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WOMAN’S PROTEST 


BY i/" 

MRS. E. C. S. KANE 


“ — As the bird, that chancing to alight 
Upon a bough too slight, 

Feels it give way beneath her, and yet sings. 
Knowing it hath wings. 

Victor Hugo. 


THE 

Hbbcy press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

Xon^on NEW YORK /Hbontreal 


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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

AUG. 14 1901 

COPVRIQHT ENTRY 

(m. i pf 

Ci/aSS^ xxi Urn. 

/ COPY B. 


Copyright, igoi, 

by 

THE 

Bbbce l>r«00 


j 


CONTENTS 


PART I. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. “Marriage Has Surprised my Soul” 7 

II. The Tightening of the Chain 18 

III. The Freedom of Her Convictions 32 

IV. A Double Sorrow 51 

V, Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head 69 

VI. “Till Death do Us Part” 87 

PART II. 

I. A New-Comer 106 

II. David Makes, a Discovery 119 

III. Breaking Home Ties 131 

IV. The Upheaval of a Soul 147 

V. The Transformation of Leon Wheatley 168 

VI. A Mother’s Prayer 


202 


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♦ 






BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 


Mrs. E. C. S. Kane, the author of this zvork, zvas 
bom in Grand Rapids, Mich., April 4, 18/4. 

Over precocious in her studies, she zvas obliged to 
leave the public schools at the early age of fourteen. 
But her education did not stop there. Developing her 
talent for Elocution, her nineteenth year zvas success- 
fully spent in giving public entertainments ; but this 
held soon proved too narrow for her ever widening 
ambitions, and withdrazving, she appeared a few years 
later on the lecture platform in the interests of advance 
lines of mental culture and social purity. 

In i8p8 she won Fellowship degrees zvith highest 
honors in the American Institute of Phrenology (N. 
Y.). Over exertion again forced her to seek rest and 
she zvent to North Dakota, where she brought out a 
dainty booklet of poems of much merit, entitled. 
Prairie Lyrics of Love and Lore. 

She was united in marriage on February 16, ipoi, 
and zvith her husband still continues her investigations 
and instructions upon the lines of advanced thought 
that most interested her. Mrs. Kane is also Associate 
Editor of a magazine of health and a frequent con- 
tributor to many literary periodicals. 

The Publishers. 


A WOMAN’S PROTEST, 


PART I. 


CHAPTER I. 

'' MARRIAGE HAS SURPRISED MY SOUL.’’ 

They were in the railway coach at last and the 
long train was slowly pulling out from the station. 
Throwing up the narrow window-sash, she leaned out 
and flirted her handkerchief gaily in response to a 
similar salute from a dozen or more young ladies 
among the crowd pressed nearest the gates, while son- 
orous good-byes from masculine throats sounded for 
the fifth or sixth time after the departing couple. He, 
meanwhile, was busily engaged in flecking the grains 
of rice from his hat-brim and coat collar, and in going 
through a series of muscular gyrations in the attempt 
to dislodge several uncomfortable little grains that 
had slipped down his back. 

When at last the smiling bride drew in her head 
and closed the window she found the young man tug- 
ging vigorously at a knot of white ribbon, which, at 

7 


8 


A Woman’s Protest. 


the very last moment, had been surreptitiously tied to 
a piece of luggage. His face was much reddened 
both from the unusual exercise and from awkward 
embarrassment, for, of course, their fellow passengers 
were getting all the amusement out of the interesting 
situation that there was to be found in it. 

'' Well, it’s all over,” she said at last with a sigh 
of relief when the roar of the train made private con- 
versation possible. 

'' Why, I think it has just begun,” he replied, look- 
ing into her face with a significant smile. 

'' Oh, I didn’t mean what you are thinking of, I 
suppose,” she exclaimed hastily, with a little laugh, a 
deep flush mantling her cheek. I was thinking of 
the wedding, and the breakfast, and then the parting 
with mama and all the girls. Mama so much regrets 
my leaving home. I think I never saw her take on 
as she did to-day, not even when papa died.” 

'' But you have been absent before, and much far- 
ther away than you will be in our new home. She did 
not object when you went to Europe last year, did 
she?” 

The other hesitated. 

I guess it isn’t just my going away, Alan. She 
didn’t want me to marry for some reason, she never 
would tell me why, although I asked her repeatedly to 
do so. Once I found her crying over' my wedding- 
dress, and when I went to her she put her arms around 
me and said she would almost as soon see me dressed 
in my shroud as my wedding-gown. That made me 
feel dreadful, and I had to cry too/' 


Marriage Has Surprised my Soul/’ 9 

A dark shadow crossed Alan Malray's face, 

“ What could have caused your mother to say such 
terrible things to you? Did she not think me worthy 
of you ? She has always been kind and gracious to 
me, I am sure, and appeared to favor my suit from the 
first.’’ 

Oh, yes, so she has,” the bride hastened to assure 
him. She felt no resentment toward you, Alan. It 
is just a queer way she has. She has always talked 
so strangely about marriage ever since papa died. 
She seemed to regret that she ever married him ; I 
never could understand it, for they were so happy 
together, I thought. There certainly never was a 
kinder husband and father so far as I knew, and I am 
quite sure that mama loved him dearly.” 

For some time they were silent. The pink silk roses 
on the bridal bonnet were pressed close against the 
window-pane, to the peril of the roses. The young 
man surmised that his pretty new wife was struggling 
with a few refractory tears, which, under the furtive 
but frequent glances of their fellow travelers, made 
him feel quite ill at ease. 

At last she turned her face toward her husband, 
smiling bravely, though with’ wet eyelids, and said 
again as if seeking some relief in the thought, Well, 
it is all over anyway.” 

'' It was a pretty wedding,” said Alan, anxious to 
change the tenor of the conversation. 

'' Oh yes, very ! Mother and my bridesmaids were 
just showered with compliment?, They were mostly 
uttered in my hearing.” 


10 


A Woman’s Protest. 


But what made you start so nervously/’ asked 
Alan, laughing, “ when the Bishop said, ' Grace, do 
you take this man to be your lawful wedded hus- 
band ? ’ And when he said, ‘ Do you promise to love, 
cherish and obey him,’ and all the rest of that ques- 
tion, he had to prompt you by saying softly, ‘ The an- 
swer is, I do.’ ” 

The girl shrugged her shoulders satirically. 

Guess I was scared,” was her evasive reply. 

'' But really it all sounded too awfully solemn. I 
suppose it was because Fm not used to it. Then you 
know there was something we had to repeat together 
about, ' Till death do us part.’ I don’t see any neces- 
sity of putting that in a marriage compact. It don’t 
really mean anything. Why, just think of the many 
divorced couples we know. If love no longer holds 
man and wife in unison, why wait for death to break 
their bonds? That isn’t natural or right.” 

'' Why, Grace, I am utterly astonished to hear you 
talk so. Now I thought that the sweetest sentence in 
the who^e ceremony, and had even contemplated hav- 
ing it engraved in your ring. Say it again for me, 
Dear, please do. ‘ Till death do us part.’ ” 

' Till death do us part ! ’ ” with a flippant laugh. 

Oh, no, not that way. Say it tenderly, as if you 
really meant it.” 

Well, you will have to wait, Alan, until a more 
suitable occasion; this is not the place for love- 
scenes.” 

The four weeks spent by the young couple on their 
honeymoon tour, though filled with novelty and charm 


Marriage Has Surprised Soul/’ ii 


and all thc’ sweet delights of newly wedded life, were 
not quite equal to Grace Malray's expectations. To 
be sure, everything progressed most favorably. Her 
husband often assured her that he loved her more 
and more every day, and she was reasonably certain 
that her own soul fully reciprocated this gratifying 
sentiment. Then, too, it was a source of constant 
pleasure to visit so many places of interest, and to be 
feted and entertained so royally by relatives and 
friends wherever they went among them. But all the 
time there was in her heart a sense of uneasiness and 
vague discontent that often made her out of humor 
with herself. 

This young woman had many remarkable traits of 
character. No one yet had been able to fathom the 
depths of her nature, nor to know her so wed but 
that she would on occasions upset nearly all their pre- 
conceived notions about her, by some speech that ap- 
peared quite contradictory and startl’ng. She was 
deliciously frank and straightforward, yet beneath her 
candor there was even a deeper, truer self of which 
her friends only caught rare glimpses. This inner 
self was a very critical one, and before its stern 
tribunal every thought, purpose and desire that was 
given birth within her brain was severely tried and 
judged. 

This honesty and freedom of opinion, as wed as 
expansiveness and liberality of thought, had always 
amused her husband, as well as flattered and pleased 
him, for he was conceited enough to think her so free- 
hearted that she could not or would not withhold any- 


12 


A Woman’s Protest. 


thing like a secret from the man she loved. When in 
the closer relationship of wedlock he found himself 
deceived in this, it wounded and annoyed him. Then 
too, her liberty of speech did not always impress him 
so agreeably as it previously had done. Now that he 
had married her he did not find it so diverting to be 
playfully reminded of his failings, or corrected of his 
negligent bachelor habits, or to hear her express her 
original opinions at all times and on all subjects, es- 
pecially when she chose to disagree with him, as she 
did not hesitate to do when her convictions required, 
aUhough too well bred, and respecting her husband 
too much to dispute with him. 

Yet, for the most part, Alan did not find his wife 
to be particularly different from what he had always 
known her to be. He exulted in the fact that he had 
wooed and won her, for he well knew that he had had 
many a rival, and Grace had not been easy of winning. 
Often he had felt anything but sure of her, for she 
was not one of that class of young women to whom 
marriage is the only desideratum of life. He knew, 
too, that Grace considered a wedded existence as a 
state too sacred and too important to take upon one- 
self too easily or irresponsibly. Moreover, marriage 
had given him more satisfaction, even, than he had 
looked for. It took away that restlessness of spirit 
and constant desire for variety and change, the indulg- 
ence of which had caused him to be looked upon as 
one who sows wild oats. In the words of an old 
college classmate whom the couple met on their jour- 
ney, marriage had '' settled him,” So much so, in 


Marriage Has Surprised my Soul.” 13 

fact, that he longed to cut short the proposed trip in 
order that they might the sooner reach their new home, 
and enjoy its solitude and exclusiveness. But seeing 
his wife’s almost feverish pleasure in going about 
from place to place, which he attributed to her keen 
zest for social enjoyments, he did not suggest any 
such abbreviation of the tour. 

As for Grace, concerning this new experience of 
wedded bliss, she did not always allow herself to think, 
much less to speak. She knew by intuition, however, 
and without reasoning about the matter, that it was 
the old freedom and independence which she missed 
out of her life. Theirs had been a long friendship, 
and to meet her lover occasionally, to converse, stroll 
or read together, or to spend the hours in that almost 
silent communion permissible among lovers, and then 
to be left free with only pleasing memories and fond 
hopes to feed upon until she met her lover again, was 
very different from this intimate companionship to 
which she could not at once become accustomed. 
While she loved her husband very dearly and was 
never quite happy when he was out of her sight, she 
reahzed that his constant association did not mean 
quite all she had dreamed it would ; while in all 
her husband’s lovemaking, subsequent to their mar- 
riage, she felt an element lacking which she was at a 
loss to define. 

One evening they were in a hotel bedroom and 
Grace was brushing her long hair, when suddenly she 
turned toward her husband and said with startling 
emphasis ; 


14 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Marriage has surprised my soul/’ 

Her husband looked up from his newspaper, 
laughing. 

How quaint you are, Grace ! Now whatever do 
you mean by that? ” 

'' Oh, don’t ask me, please, what I mean,” replied 
Grace rather impatiently. '' I usually say just what I 
mean, and I can’t define my thoughts in any other 
words. But marriage is such a revolution in one’s 
life. It makes you over into something new and dif- 
ferent. Don’t you feel different, Alan, tlfan you did 
before you married me?” 

Y-e-s,” replied Alan, slowly, “ I think I do in many 
ways. In the first place I am more contented and 
happy than ever before.” 

And I am not ! ” emphatically. '' Do you know, 
Dear, I think I liked you better just as you were be- 
fore the law tied us up together in a hard knot ? ” said 
Grace, making a comical, wry face. 

Grace, come here,” said Alan sternly. 

She crossed the room laughing, and half-disrobed 
sat down on her husband’s knee, hiding her face on 
his shoulder like a merry, mischievous chiM. 

Don’t you think it a little hard on a fellow to hear 
his new wife talk like that? ” 

But it’s true, Alan. And you needn't be angry. 
I don’t suppose I feel any differently than all new\v 
married women. It’s harder for us than for you, just 
at first, you know. I suppose we all get used to it 
after a while. But you see, men know so much about 
these things beforehand, while women are kept in ig- 


Marriage Has Surprised my Soul/* i5 

norance, even by other married women, who ought to 
be their teachers/' 

“ I thought courtship prepared a woman somewhat,'' 
said Alan reflectively, '' for I will admit that some 
preparation seems necessary.” 

“ Well, it don’t, not a bit. Courtship is never any- 
thing but a platonic friendship. If it breathes the 
least suspicion of anything more than that it is deemed 
dishonorable. But in marriage the utmost liberty is 
allowed without comment or disgrace, such, for in- 
stance, as you are at this moment enjoying.” 

He was rapturously kissing her rosy arms, neck and 
body. 

“ Suppose I had allowed you such a privilege just 
once before we were married. There was really no 
difference in our relations then than now, only in 
public recognition. What would have been the result 
of such freedom of expression, do you think ? ” 

‘‘ You would have been a ruined girl,” said Alan 
gravely. 

‘‘But why?” 

“ Because for a woman to yield to such caresses 
from one of the opposite sex, no matter what her in- 
tentions, even in this innocent way, outside the 
marriage-estate would result inevitably in moral de- 
pravity.” 

“ How about the man ? ” 

“ For myself. Dear, I think it would have been the 
same. I would not have cared to risk such delicious 
gratification,” Alan replied with k smile. 

. But what makes it different now ? ” 


i6 


A Woman’s Protest. 


‘‘ The law sanctions perfect freedom of communica- 
tion in marriage/' 

‘‘ And what has the law got to do with people's lov- 
ing each other, Alan ? " 

Well, the law really has not got much to do with 
it," Alan answered evasively. 

But if you want to love any one very much the 
law marries you so you can, is that it ? " 

'' Marriages, we are told, are made in heaven, my 
darling." 

'' Well, I know some that were not." 

'' Those were mistakes, I suppose." 

‘' And does the law sanction mistakes ? " 

“ Why, no, not exactly," said Alan, looking puzzled ; 
“ because you know it provides a way to correct such 
mistakes, so far as possible." 

“ I suppose the law then is just established in order 
to keep a sort of record of contracts that are really 
consummated in heaven, is that it ? " 

“ Yes, I guess that is it," replied Alan with evident 
relief. 

“ But don't you think there could be some way pro- 
vided by which such mistakes might be avoided? I 
think divorce is such a dreadful thing. And I wonder 
if the records in heaven ever have to be changed or 
blotted out, for you know, Alan, people sometimes 
marry in lov^, and after a while they don't love any 
more ; and then they part. Do you suppose heaven 
ever grants divorces to unhappy couples, my Dear? " 
“ Um ! I don't know. I never thought of it in 
that way before. But, Grace, why do you bother your 


Marriage Has Surprised my Soul.’^ 17 


little head with such perplexing questions? Why can’t 
you take the old world as you find it? It is as good 
now as it ever will be, I fancy.” 

Oh, I don’t know, Alan. I always did have such 
queer thoughts, and I never had any one before to talk 
to about them.” 

“ Well, let’s not converse any longer to-night. It’s 
after twelve o’clock already, and you have lost your 
beauty-sleep.” 

2 


i8 


A Woman's Protest. 


CHAPTER IL 

THE TIGHTENING OF THE CHAIN. 

Once established in their new home in the sub- 
urban part of a large metropolitan city, Grace Malray 
confidently expected to realize something of that ideal 
connubial bliss which she had always believed to be 
immutably associated with true marriage. And amid 
the novelty and charm of new environments, the pride 
of a home, new friends and new pleasures, it appeared 
for a time as if wedded life was to prove all that she 
had dreamed it. With her husband's return to busi- 
ness she was left more alone, and his society grew 
proportionately dearer to her, as she found time to 
carry on her own little household arangements, her 
charities and other pleasures according to the dictates 
of her own judgment and personal interests, as she 
had always been wont to do; and also as she learned 
what it meant to her now to be without her husband's 
society. So in this way both of them learned to prize 
each other more highly, and to look forward with 
pleasant anticipations to the long evening hours which 
thus far they spent together in mutual enjoyment and 
comfort. 

Her household arrangements left little to be desired. 
Every luxury that modest wealth could afford had 


19 


The Tightening of the Chain. 

been supplied, and Alan Malray felt some justifiable 
pride in taking his wife to such a home. The young 
couple soon won the eclat of the best society about 
them, and it was not long ere they found themselves 
in the very center of the social swim. It was here 
that Grace first heard the clank of her chains and 
promptly rebelled against their restraining influence. 

The incident occurred at the first dancing-party 
which the young couple attended among their new 
acquaintances. Both were handsome, faultlessly 
attired and altogether charming. So it was no won- 
der that almost on entering the ball-room they were 
swept apart by the demands of the occasion, and did 
not again unite for any length of time during the 
evening. Weary at last of the merry whirl, Grace 
retired from the floor with a gentleman of some lit- 
erary repute whom she had met before, and with 
whom she longed to become better acquainted. In the 
more quiet conservatory they conversed pleasantly for 
some time, when at last her companion asked permis- 
sion to escort her to the supper-room, to which she 
amiably consented. 

At the table both entered in general conversation 
with those about them, and at the end of the brief col- 
lation separated from each other by mutual consent. 
Twice during her presence in that room her husband 
passed through in company with a lady, once assisting 
her to some light refreshments. But Grace, not dream- 
ing of his displeasure, only nodded gaily to him, and 
continued to enjoy the occasion to the fulness of its 
privileges. 


20 A Woman’s Protest. 

Not long after returning to the ball-room, however, 
her husband sought her out where she sat apart from 
the dancers with some matronly women, and asked 
her if she was not weary enough to go home. She 
was a little surprised, as the hour was not late, but 
remembering that he had spent most of the day in his 
office she promptly consented to retire, and a little 
later the pair was being whirled away in their cab. 

Oh, what a glorious time I have had ! '' exclaimed 
Grace with enthusiasm. '' Have you enjoyed the 
evening, Alan? I hoped it would give you some rest 
by diverting your mind from business cares, but you 
looked tired some way, when we came out from 
under the glare of the lighted rooms. Are you tired. 
Dear?’’ 

''Yes, tired and disappointed. I did not enjoy the 
affair as I expected.” 

" Oh, I am so sorry ! I thought it splendid.” 

" Yes, I daresay you did. You gave all your smiles 
and the pleasure of your society to others.” 

" Why, Alan ! ” cried Grace in pained surprise, 
" I danced with you several times, which is quite un- 
common for married people, you know. Besides, I 
supposed we went to such places to make others’ ac- 
quaintance, not our own.” 

"We do. Nevertheless it is evident that you enjoy 
other men’s society much more than I do that of other 
women.” 

"Indeed?” cried Grace, sharply, "for how long 
has that been the case? I remember when you were 
courting me ” 


21 


The Tightening of the Chain. 

‘‘ Why do you continually draw such odious com- 
parisons? All is quite different now/' 

‘‘ But why different? I should think married people 
ought to enjoy much greater social freedom than 
even courtship can allow. Marriage is in some sense 
a protection, at least for a woman. I feel much more 
at liberty to mingle with the opposite sex now than 
ever before, for the men know whenever I smile on 
them that I am not ogling to bring them to my feet." 

'' You never look at situations as others do, Grace. 
Now the world will take a very different view from 
what you have just expressed of your conduct to- 
night." 

''For pity's sake, Alan, what awful indiscretion 
have I committed ? " 

" Well, if you need to be told, sitting for an hour 
alone with a stranger, and then going in to supper with 
him, leaving your husband to the mercy of a lot of 
giggling women. I am almost sure they were laugh- 
ing at me." 

Grace grew rigid with indignation. She had felt 
the blushes mantling her cheeks as she had caught 
a glimpse of her husband in the wine-room, drinking 
as she knew more than was good for him. This she 
had seen from- her seat in the conservatory. 

" Where were you, I beg leave to inquire, when I 
went in to supper with that man? In the wine-room, 
roistering with both women and men. If you can in- 
dulge in that kind of amusement what wrong do you 
find in my going decently to supper with an honorable 
gentleman ? " 


22 


A Woman^s Protest. 


‘‘ Wrong ! ’’ echoed Alan, incensed by her unex- 
pected retort. It is wrong because you are my wife. 
You belong to me, and you have no right to associate 
so intimately with other men against my wishes.'' 

I belong to you, do I ? " came in a scornful sneer 
from the depths of the opposite seat in the carriage. 

Since when, I would like to know." 

The exasperated man, leaning forward, grasped the 
gloved arm firmly and hissed his angry reply in her 
ear : 

Since you paid your marriage-vows to me at the 
altar! Since then you are mine — mine — mine." 

Grace Malray suddenly felt as if the carriage was 
being whirled rapidly around. It was her brain that 
reeled, and she felt stunned as if by a heavy blow. 
She could hear her husband talking still, but could 
comprehend nothing ; only those terrible words 
seemed to be striking on her brain like a trip-hammer 
over and over again, and at the same time they 
glowed before her eyes like burning letters of fire in 
the darkness, — You are mine — mine — mine." 

Presently she heard her husband’s voice from out- 
side th^ carriage saying in alarm, ‘‘ Grace, Grace, 
what is the matter with you? " 

The carriage had stopped and she knew they were 
at home. With an ei¥ort she managed to alight, and 
with her husband's strong arm encircling her, was led 
into the house. 

Alan Malray was thoroughly frightened at his 
wife's sudden stupor and faintness. As quickly as 
possible he poured some wine for her, which she re- 


23 


The Tightening of the Chain. 

fused with a shudder. And presently, leaning back 
with a heavy sigh in the armchair in which he had 
placed her, Grace began to slowly draw off her long 
gloves. Kneeling by her side, her husband, with ten- 
der solicitude, asked: 

What was it made you faint, my darling? Were 
you ill? Did you get over-tired? You must forgive 
me, Dearest, for appearing angry with you. I suppose 
I did not realize just what I was saying. I must have 
drunk a little too much strong wine. I am free from 
its effects now, that is sure.’’ 

She received his caresses dispassionately, and at last 
replied with composure, '' You were jealous, Alan.” 

“ Only jealous for your honor, my dear, and for the 
integrity of your fair name.” 

The young wife’s lips curled scornfully. 

‘‘ Nothing I shall ever do will forfeit that,” she re- 
plied, with bitterness. 

That night Grace slept not. Her husband’s terrible 
words rang unceasingly in her ears, and slowly but 
impressively she unfolded in her mind the truth of her 
relations to her husband. She had sold herself, body 
and soul, that was what she had done, so she medi- 
tated, and the thought was torture to her. To be 
sure her husband loved her, and she loved him in a 
different manner than she had ever loved any one be- 
fore. But would she have given herself into his keep- 
ing and power to do with her as he pleased, much like 
any other piece of personal propertv, if she had known 
what lay before her? Did she love him enough for 
that ? It was a question she could not answer, 


24 


A Woman’s Protest. 


At last, after the fiercest struggle of her life, she 
entered that submissive state of mind that, by one 
means or another, comes at last to so many women 
under similar experiences, in which she formed the 
heroic "resolution to make the best of it, and be as 
good a wife to her husband as possible. 

“ 1 have put my head in a noose,'' she told herself 
bitterly, “ and I deserve to be clipked." 

Little did she realize that her proud, independent 
spirit was not to be so easily subdued, but must in 
future endure the fires of affliction, remorse and agony 
ere she should have fulfilled conscientiously the vows 
she had taken upon herself. And surely she had no 
other intention. She would not have returned, if she 
could, to the guileless innocence of girlhood. Could 
she have looked prophetically on into the future she 
might have shrunk from what lay in her path before 
her, but she would not have wished to retrace her 
steps. The fountains of life had been opened to her, 
and she loved her husband more, even with the knowl- 
edge of his weaknesses, than she had thought it pos- 
sible for her to love. Though there was bitterness in 
her cup where she had rightfully expected only un- 
alloyed sweetness, she was too brave to dash that cup 
from her lips. Indeed, the bitterness was almost for- 
gotten next morning over a delicious breakfast and a 
happy chat with her husband, which made her aware 
as never before that the comradeship of this man did, 
after all, mean much to her now, even though there 
was a great mistake somewhere. 

It was not long before the Malrays felt obligated to 


25 


The Tightening of the Chain. 

repay some of the social privileges afforded them by 
their friends, and resolved to begin by giving an in- 
formal dinner party. Alan, however, was too ab- 
sorbed in business to assist in its preparation, and left 
all arrangements to his wife, even to the selection of 
guests. Amid the arrivals on this occasion was a 
handsome gentleman of mature years to whom Grace 
had taken a great liking, having met him at a number 
of fashionable functions. Her husband, however, 
showed ill-concealed surprise when his name was an- 
nounced, and throughout the event appeared ab- 
stracted and moody,, much to his wife's exasperation 
and alarm, for she was at a loss to account for his un- 
usual conduct. 

As the gentlemen were returning to the drawing- 
room, after wine and cigars, some ladies who were 
seated near the door, greeted several of them. 

We attracted you over here," began a bright- 
faced woman, '' because we want to hear your most 
candid opinions upon a much mooted question. We 
have all confided our conclusions with characteristic 
frankness (to each other, you know), but we feel 
that the matter cannot be concluded until we hear the 
verdict of some of you wiseacres of creation." 

Suppose you permit us to venture a guess or two 
as to the character of this momentous question," sug- 
gested one gentleman. 

'' Oh, that's easy enough," intercepted another, who 
was something of a wag. '' They were talking over 
that tiresome problem about marriage being a failure. 
I overheard them as I came in." The pretty conster- 


26 


A Woman’s Protest. 


nation manifested among the women at this unex- 
pected sally caused much laughter among their men 
friends. 

“ Why, my dear ladies,'' observed one of them, 
'' we supposed it to be generally conceded that the ver- 
dict to that question was indubitably declared in the 
affirmative long ago." 

'' By whom ? " asked the leader, in a tone of defi- 
ance. 

'' Oh, by the lords of creation, as you call them, of 
course." 

As this was not a very complimentary assertion, it 
failed of winning the approving laughter that was 
expected, and Mr. Roscoe, the guest whom Alan had 
not welcomed, with his usual tact, said quickly: 

'' Please won't you give us the benefit of your orig- 
inal conclusions, if the guess was really a correct one, 
for the question remains to be individually settled by 
some of us yet, and we may be able to profit by such 
instruction." 

'' Oh, of course he did not guess correctly at all. 
That's only Tom's blunt way of saying things," said 
the pretty wife of the young man who had made the 
unfortunate remark, with a reproachful pouting of her 
small mouth as siie looked up at her husband, who had 
found a seat beside her. 

Still, he is more than half right," said the leader 
of the conversation, somewhat mollified, the crimson 
flush dying out of her cheek ; '' only we wouldn't have 
put the question in precisely that way, you know. 
Still we must all confess to having indulged in a little 


27 


The Tightening of the Chain. 

harmless gossip over the many failures in marriage, 
with their subsequent separations and sorrows, that 
have occurred right in our own set during the past 
five years. It’s simply scandalous, and all such nice 
young people, too. So we were discussing the more 
modern phase of the question, and truly the more sen- 
sible one, of how to be happy, though married.’' The 
little lady’s eyes danced with merriment, while half in 
mockery, half in earnest, she proceeded from her usual 
vantage point, the center of an interested group. 
'' Now, it is my opinion that marriage will always 
prove successful’ when just the right sort of people 
are joined together, which, of course, does not often 
happen nowadays when social prestige has to be as- 
sured and financial qualifications properly considered. 
Then, little Mrs. Blossom, here, has most exalted ideas 
of wedded felicity, but the truth is that her bereaved 
husband did not live long enough for the pair to wear 
off the novelty and glamour of their honeymoon, so 
she is not a capable person to judge,” which reference 
to her widowhood caused Mrs. Blossom to put her 
lace handkerchief to her eyes with pretty coquetry. 
'' Miss Finley,” the speaker went on, '' feels sure that 
marriage is the crowning glory of a woman’s life, 
but Miss Finley’s wedding cards are out, as most 
every one knows, so she has very much to learn yet.” 
At this pertinent witticism Miss Finley smiled dream- 
ily and cast a furtive glance over to where her future 
husband was engaged in mechanically turning the 
leaves of an album for an elderly lady with a large 
lorgnette. 


28 


A Woman’s Protest. 


'' Mrs. Malray/’ said one of the gentlemen, gal- 
lantly, “ we are surely not to be deprived of your 
opinion, are we, when we all know it will prove a valu- 
able one ? '' 

Grace, who was smiling thoughtfully, hesitated, but 
seeing that all awaited her reply, she observed in her 
quiet way, I think the perfect union of two har- 
monious souls is the highest imaginable bliss, but I 
do not think such union is only concomitant with 
marriage. In fact, I think I have known rare cases 
where the very seal of marriage has had a tendency 
to disturb that perfect soul harmony which previously 
existed.’’ 

'' Why, Mrs. Malray ! What queer things you al- 
ways say. Now that sounds like free-love.” 

Grace was about to indignantly reply, when Mr. 
Roscoe took up the cudgel for her : 

“ Mrs. Malray, having found her affinity, which we 
all know has not, in her case, been disturbed by the 
marriage relation, can be permitted the utmost liberty 
of speech, I am sure, amply protected by the fact that 
she loves and is loved. And I must confess that I not 
only agree with her, but will go further and say that 
I consider marriage, sacred and holy as it is, the high- 
est and happiest estate ever intended for man to en- 
joy, has, most deplorably, become with a large class of 
people, to be considered as a kind of lottery in which 
human hearts are bartered in exchange for many 
things. It may be an exchange is made simply for a 
home or a housekeeper. Often it is for houses and 
lands, for titles or gold. Whatever the exchange, one 


The Tightening of the Chain. 29 

soul is almost sure to become dominant over the other, 
it may be the man’s or it may be the woman's/' 

And it's usually the man’s ! " interposed the leader 
of the discussion, with comic gravity. '' That's just 
why marriage is the failure it is. Women arc con- 
stantly held in subjection in one way or another. We 
are not allowed half our rights. Why, just consider; 
we have been begging for school suffrage for I don't 
know how long, and now that we have it, what good 
does it do us? Just see how completely our women 
candidates were defeated at this last election, in spite 
of our best efforts; and it was just the work of those 
mean, selfish male politicians, too." 

“ A woman, a dog, and a walnut-tree, 

The more they’re beaten, the better they be,” 

roguishly quoted a gentleman who had just been at- 
tracted to the animated group, which brought forth a 
ripple of merriment from the others. 

“ He who composed that couplet put himself on 
record as the meanest man ever born," retorted one 
woman with spirit. Besides," added another, '' the 
saying is not a true one, for if it was, women would 
have been so angelic by this time that this mundane 
sphere would never have detained us from rising to 
the heights of superior existence to which we would 
properly belong." 

‘‘ Oh, but everything is different nowadays from 
what it was in olden times. And I am quite sure that 
so far as social equality is concerned the woman of 
to-day, and especially the married woman, has all the 


30 


A Woman's Protest. 


rights and privileges she needs to make her happy/' 
said Miss Finley blandly. 

'' Which proves that you were never married," re- 
turned Grace, laughing, which created much amuse- 
ment at Miss Finley’s expense, while the leader of the 
conversation exclaimed gaily, “ Well, that would have 
been an eye-opener for Mr. Malray, surely. Come on, 
some of you, let’s give him the benefit of his wife’s 
opinion of wedded bliss.’’ 

And so the little group divided, to mingle with the 
other guests, much to the relief of their hostess, who 
was a little alarmed at the trend of the conversation. 
But Mr. Roscoe lingered for a moment by Grace’s 
side. 

You possess the charm of a very original mind,’’ 
he said with a grave smile. " It is refreshing to hear 
a woman speak her convictions as unhesitatingly as 
you appear to do. Pardon me if I assume too much, 
but do you not think that all love is wounded, if not 
altogether crushed, when one spirit tries to gain un- 
equal control over the other ? ’’ 

I — I — do not know,’’ replied Grace, a little 
startled. She had never dared to acknowledge as 
much to herself. Yet, before she could restrain it, she 
shuddered, for in that instant she seemed again to 
hear those terrible words hissed into her ear, You 
are mine — mine — mine.” 

'' Do not be angry with me for putting the ques- 
tion,’’ he went on in a low voice. '' I merely wanted 
your valued opinion, providing you had any. My soul 
is groping in the darkness of doubt, — I had almost 


The Tightening of the Chain. 31 

said, despair. I am a seeker after light and wis- 
dom.'' 

“ I must go now," said Grace hurriedly. Her hus- 
band's eyes were upon them. “ Can you not call some 
Sunday evening when we receive our friends very 
quietly and informally ? " 

I shall be most grateful for the privilege," he re- 
plied, bowing slightly above her extended finger-tips, 
which he pressed an instant with his own. 

Scarcely had the door closed upon their last guest 
that evening when Alan Malray turned upon his wife 
and poured out his indignation and wrath upon her. 


3:2 


A Woman’s Protest. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FREEDOM OF TIER CONVICTIONS. 

Well, Grace,'’ he began with caustic sarcasm, 
'' we might just as well take in our horns and with- 
draw from society before we are publicly ostracised." 

The young wife, too astonished to speak, simply 
stared in questioning amazement. 

Or at least," he went on unfeelingly, '' if we ever 
. recover from the effects of this disgrace sufficiently 
to attempt another dinner-party, you had better per- 
mit me to inspect your list of prospective guests." 

Still speechless with wonder and alarm Grace sank 
into a chair. 

Of course you do not know to whom I refer. 
Every one else knew. You must be blind, or reckless. 
I refer to that fellow, Roscoe. I would have given 
him credit for manliness enough to have respected 
your ignorance and innocence and refused your invi- 
tation." 

'' Why, Alan, I cannot understand the reason for 
your accusations. Mr. Roscoe is a well-bred gentle- 
man, and we have met him at several of the best 
places." 

Never, if you please, at a select dinner-party. He 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 33 

bears the cognomen, among men at least, of a liber- 
tine, and is regarded by them as a sort of a social 
vampire/’ 

“ Indeed ! How does it occur that you know so 
much about him ? ” 

O he’s a member of my Club,” replied Alan disin- 
terestedly. 

‘‘ You have said that he is a libertine, and yet your 
Club, v/hich you claim to be pre-eminently respectable, 
recognizes him as one of its members, and affords him 
the inestimable privilege of its very virtuous society ? ” 

Yes, of course. Men do not need to regard these 
matters among themselves very scrupulously. They 
are not so easily contaminated by each other as women 
are.” 

'' How can you make such absurd statements ! 
Women never contaminate each other; at least not un- 
til they are ruined by men, who decoy them through 
pretenses of love, and then push them over the brink 
of infamy into the bottomless pit of hopeless degrada- 
tion. Yet other men sanction such conduct, and slap 
such men on the back and call them good fellows. It 
is only where their personal feminine property is 
touched by the tips of such men’s fingers that the 
warning cry is raised, ‘ Unclean ! Unclean ! ’ ” 

This fine bit of irony was evidently almost lost on 
Alan, for he replied coolly, What you say is relatively 
true of most men. It does not apply to me, of course. 
Nevertheless I am justified in forbidding you to 
recognize this fellow in future. He is noted as a se- 
ducer of women.” 

3 


34 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Do you suppose any man could ever seduce me? ** 
asked Grace hotly. 

I don’t know. All women are much alike, I sup- 
pose,” observed Alan. 

Yes, that is too true. Most women are seduced 
once, but few of us would be unwary enough to get 
entrapped again.” 

Grace!” 

I beg pardon.” 

There was a painful pause. 

How that man ever found the audacity to come 
here to-day, knowing as he did my understanding of 
his true character, is beyond comprehension,” said 
Alan after a while. 

You appear to know him well. He spends a large 
portion of his time at the Club, I suppose.” 

‘‘ Yes, hangs around there a good deal.” 

'' Has he no home? Is he unmarried? ” 

He has a wife, but she is a helpless invalid, I be- 
lieve.” 

‘‘ Ah ? ” with insinuation, that explains every- 
thing, doesn’t it ? ” 

Yes, I presume so,” Alan admitted rather scorn- 
fully. 

Good thing Fm not an invalid,” Grace muttered 
under her breath. 

‘‘Grace?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Once again I positively forbid your having any- 
thing to do with this man, or even anything to say to 
him in the future.” 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 35 

‘‘ Very well, my liege lord, I will meekly obey your 
behests. But I have already invited him here for 
our Sunday evenings, and if he comes ’’ 

“ I will see to it that he does not,” responded Alan 
with firmness. 

Such scenes as these grew to be pretty familiar to 
both of them as time went on. Alan took upon him- 
self the weighty responsibility of directing his wife's 
most trifling actions, and to him she was obliged to ac- 
count for all her doings, not because of mutual in- 
terest and pleasure, but that she might lay herself 
open to possible criticism and even curtailment of any 
project which did not meet with his capricious ap- 
proval. 

The supreme selfishness of the man was a continual 
astonishment to her, for though knowing him to be 
strongly self-willed, she was obliged to confess that in 
all their acquaintance she had never sounded such 
depths of egoism as he was now manifesting. With 
a patience and submissiveness hitherto foreign to her 
nature, she slipped into a way of doing things as he 
liked best, oftentimes at the sacrifice of her own bet- 
ter intuitions and judgment, where such did not ma- 
terially involve the happiness or personal interests of 
others. She was learning life lessons never taught 
her in her youtii, of self-control and submission when 
called upon to sacrifice those natural rights and privi- 
leges which she felt most naturally belonged to her. 
But such discipline did not lessen her love of inde- 
pendence, nor weaken her strong sense of justice. It 
did not weaken or intimidate her in any way, as it 


A Woman^s Protest. 


36 

might have done many another woman of less stead- 
fastness of character. It often seemed to her that she 
had become divided into two selves, her second self 
being always subjective, passive, compromising, even 
strategic at times. But the old self still remained 
with her, positive, even self-assertive at times, yet 
never unlovable or unwomanly. 

But with her whole nature she loved her wayward 
husband, — the better part of him, at least. She 
craved his sympathy and companionship, to secure 
which she submitted passively to all that was irritating 
and painful, passably content, withal, if in so doing 
she avoided arousing the spirit of conflict between 
them, and prevented his asserting his authority over 
her in that manner which always so wounded and 
stung her. 

In all he demanded of his wife, Alan Malray knew 
that this was his most effective weapon, and he cun- 
ningly used his poisoned darts of bitter sarcasm or 
pointed jests which, entering her strong soul, invari- 
ably weakened her proud and resolute spirit for the 
time. 

The more Grace was made to feel the tightening 
coils of her husband’s tyranny, the more she felt 
forced to seek popular society as a diversion for her 
brooding thoughts, and as a cloak by which not only 
to smother her own rebellion, but also to hide from 
the world ber secret sorrow and mortification at what 
married life had brought her. 

But these bitter lessons she was learning were not 
lost upon her as awful examples of what many of her 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 37 

sister women were suffering under that same secret 
yoke that was galling her spirit. Nor did she fail to 
note with what passive endurance and meek submis- 
sion most women whom she suspected of secret sor- 
row accepted whatever their life brought them, reveal- 
ing ail too plainly how effective had been the process 
of ages of masculine superiority, which though in 
some sense legitimate and desirable yet had been 
abused until all conception of natural liberty and inde- 
pendence appeared to be blotted out from women's 
code of recognized possibilities. Yet she never dared 
reveal, even to her most intimate friends, the status of 
her own mental development, for fear of being con- 
sidered disloyal to her husband and unfortunate in her 
choice of a life-companion. Or even perhaps as hav- 
ing unchaste yearnings herself. However, she never 
failed when opportunity presented to venture as far as 
possible with her women-friends, hoping to stir the 
soil a little, and thereby learn more of their true con- 
dition, which she doubted not was, in many cases, not 
dissimilar to her own. 

This new independence of thought naturally had its 
influence in molding her conduct in its conformity to 
the world. Without realizing it she grew to manifest, 
along with more reserve of manner, a sweet, queenly 
dignity and self-poise, the result of a calm fearlessness 
and bold superiority that made her a favorite among 
her men-friends, but a paradox to her sisters. 

Owing to his wife’s shrewd diplomacy, it was long 
before Alan Malrav detected any marked change in 
his wife’s characteristics, either in her conduct toward 


A Woman s Protest. 


38 

himself or the world. Her yearning solicitude over 
her husband, her longing to see him saved from the 
downward course he was so fatally pursuing, made 
her more tender and solicitous over him than she was 
at first wont to be. She strove desperately in every 
way she knew to fan the flickering flame of love, and 
to keep a good wife’s wholesome influence over him, 
but her efiforts bore but little fruit. Still, hope in her 
died slowly, and if Alan was ever keen enough to feel 
the widening gulf between them he probably could not 
define it, or discover for himself the cause thereof. 
Of his wife he felt both proud and jealous. He could 
not fail to see that she was much loved and admired 
by all who knew her, and a popular favorite in the in- 
tellectual circlets in which she mingled, a favoritism 
kept alive by something deeper than her beauty or 
brilliancy. And as he found himself more and more 
shunned by those who most courted her, in spite of 
his wife’s desperate efiforts to prevent such variance, 
he grew to experience a bitter envy of her, for her 
superior worth and popularity, and strove by many 
cruel and unkind acts to discourage her from seeking 
often the society of friends which meant so much to 
her now. 

Still, Alan continued to love his wife in a matter-of- 
fact way which he thought quite in common with 
other men’s experiences. One could not keep on 
courting terms with one’s wife forever. 

Had his sensibilities been less dulled by his bibu- 
lous habits, he might have realized that he was driving 
her away from him, and that even now his caresses 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 39 

were no longer necessary to her happiness, but 
were received and returned submissively, and with 
that same calm stoicism that now characterized her life. 
Too often, alas, his lips breathed the foul odors of 
the gilded cafe, while his thoughts were too preoc- 
cupied wit:i his relations to those gayer companions, 
whom he could not bring to his home, for him to be 
keenly alive to any change in his wife. 

Engaged one morning at breakiast in glancing over 
his morning papers, Grace spread before her husband 
several dainty notes of invitation to various social 
functions, among which was one to a grand midsum- 
mer ball for the summer stay-at-homes, to be given at 
the beautiful country-seat of one of their fashionable 
acquaintances, and Grace had experienced a little 
quiver of delight at the prospect of this pleasurable 
event. Alan gave them all a cursory glance and 
pushed them from him in a little heap. 

'' Send our regrets,’’ he said a little crustily. 

'' What, to all of them ? ” asked Grace in astonish- 
ment. 

Yes, to all of them. I am dead tired of this end- 
less society business. We owe more social debts now 
than we can ever hope to repay. Balls, card-parties, 
small-and-earlies, large-and-lates. Summer and Winter 
unceasingly. Something going on all the time to keep 
us out nights and unfit me for business.” 

For once Grace allowed her disappointment and 
indignation to get the mastery of her. The day had 
been when she would have wept a few effective tears 
and sought by earnest, though submissive, appeal to 


40 


A Woman’s Protest. 


have softened the cruel edict, and strove to be satisfied 
with whatever compromise he would have conde- 
scended to make. But the spirit of forbearance did 
not come to her aid this time. 

‘'If you had consented to board in the country this 
Summer, as we should have done, we could have gone 
to bed with the chickens ! '' Grace replied sarcastically. 
“ However, you don’t really mean what you have just 
said, for when you go to your Club, leaving me here 
alone (which is pretty often, Alan), you don’t appear 
to mind what the hour is when you come stumping in.’’ 

It was a poisoned thrust, and Alan gulped down the 
last of his coffee angrily. 

“ Whether that is my reason or not, I am tired of 
conveying you around to these silly dress-parades 
where I am only bored to death by a lot of cackling 
women, while you find amusement in flirting with all 
sorts of men.” 

“ Now, I like that,” retorted Grace, laughing bit- 
terly. “ \ ou know I always admire frankness. Why 
did you not say at first just what you meant, then I 
would not have misunderstood you.” 

xA.lan pushed back his plate and rose hastily from 
the table. 

“ Nevertheless, I have told you my determination. 
I am not going to attend these confounded parties any 
more. You may send our regrets and stay at home.” 

Grace’s temper was much ruffled. 

“ On the contrary, my sovereign lord,” she said 
sharply, “ I shad most probably attend them all” 

“ Then you go alone,” 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 41 

'' No, I shall not do that, either. I shall play the 
part of a grass-widow and chaperone a dear young 
maiden whom I have been longing to introduce into 
society. I will secure her an invitation to this mid- 
summer ball, and to as many other functions as I 
choose to attend myself. How delighted she will be ! 
Really, Alan, ‘t will look like a nice piece of heroic sac- 
rifice on your part.’’ But her husband had made good 
his escape and was quite out of hearing before the last 
of her remark, and she stepped to the window just in 
time to see him hurrying round the corner to catch a 
suburban train. 

Grace did not like to see him go away for the day in 
a bad humor, and upbraiding herself severely for her 
coldness toward him, she dropped into a chair and 
wept long and bitterly for sorrow at the terrible tide 
that was slowly, but surely, carrying her husband out 
upon the sea of destruction, until he no longer cared 
for the influence of those self-respecting friends, 
whose opinions thus far had, to some extent, con- 
trolled him. But now he had cut the last cord that 
bound him to the nobility of manhood and that re- 
spectability of character which he had thus far endeav- 
ored to assume. What was to be the outcome of it 
all could only be conjectured from the present status 
of affairs, which was — what? Grace suddenly sat up 
and studied her own reflection in the large mirror on 
the opposite wall. Did not her own face bear the un- 
mistakable reflection of her husband’s dissipations? 
Had she not allowed herself to drift with him in the 
tide, hoping that her influence might, in some way, 


42 


A Woman's Protest. 


rescue him and bring him back ? And had it done so 
thus far? Nay, a thousand times had he proved him- 
self stronger in will-power and influence than she. 
Insensibly she had become his captive, not his de- 
liverer. 

Hold ! what was it the image in the glass seemed to 
be revealing? It was her better, stronger self that 
was imaged there, that self before which no truths 
could hide, and which now revealed what she had 
never dared to acknowledge before, but which, never- 
theless, carried their own conviction. Before their 
union, had Alan been as dissolute as self-indulgent, 
as fond of the wine-cup as now? No, surely; had he 
been so she would never have given her life and hap- 
piness into his keeping. What made him different 
now? What had awakened these consuming and ap- 
parently unnuenchable fires withm him? What, in- 
deed, but the ravishing beauty of her own self, while, in 
their case, at least, her own great love for the man and 
her sweet, virgin purity had not been sufficient to con- 
trol the passions thus awakened. That high sense of 
morality and exquisite propriety which had influenced 
him in single life, by no law, custom or well-asserted 
precedence had he been influenced to carry along with 
him into the realm of married life. As he himself 
had once acknowledged, perfect freedom was sanc- 
tioned and the widest liberty permissible between man 
and wife. It was evident that this arrangement met 
with his entire approval, and with what terrible re- 
sults, his young wife’s misery and his own moral 
degeneracy fully testified. 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 43 

The awfulness of it overwhelmed Grace with agony, 
and she sank down to the floor, shuddering with hys- 
terical emotions and struggling with all her power to 
keep back the cries that rose to her lips. There she 
lay until her passionate grief had spent her strength, 
when at last with heavy sighs, she rose, mechanically 
tapped the bell to notify the servants that the break- 
fast hour was over, and went from the room to per- 
form her usual daily duties. 

Grace Malray’s pleasure-loving friend was de- 
lighted at the prospect of attending her first society 
ball, and particularly enchanted with the idea of hav- 
ing Mrs. Malray for a chaperone. The young girl’s 
greatest effort was to attire herself as exquisitely as 
possible for the occasion, in order that her appearance 
might satisfy her kind friend’s faultless taste, for she 
knew that Grace bore an enviable reputation among 
women for her tact and skill in matters of appropriate 
costumes. What was her surprise, therefore, on meet- 
ing Mrs. Malray at her home on the night of the ball, 
to find her attired in a toilet, elegant enough in itself, 
but strikingly plain, trainless and without the decollette 
cut considered so unquestionably proper for the char- 
acter of function to which they were going. 

'' O, Mrs. Malray,’’ exclaimed the impulsive girl, 
after the first words of greeting, your dress is a 
dream ; but, pardon me, is that the prevailing style 
or is it just your own sweet way? I merely ask to be 
enlightened you know, for perhaps I am not suitably 
attired. Am I, please? ” 

Grace laughed pleasantly. 


44 


A Woman’s Protest. 


‘‘Don’t be alarmed, Dear. You look like a fairy- 
queen, and are quite properly dressed, I assure you. 
It is I who have risked Dame Fashion’s deep displeas- 
ure. I have long felt the need of a revolution in even- 
ing toilets, and so in that capacity this event will be 
my debut as well as yours.” 

“ I know it is some conviction that is quite new and 
interesting. Dear Mrs. Malray, won’t you give me 
the advantage of it ? ” 

Grace touched her lips lightly to the girl’s gleaming 
shoulder and answered affectionately, “ Not to-night, 
Rosalie. It might disturb your happiness in some 
way. Besides, you are not yet sufficiently initiated 
to appreciate the force of my logic.” 

Never before this season, Grace thought, had Fash- 
ion required her devotees to appear in toilets so indeli- 
cate. The prevaihng mode in evening gowns was de- 
cidedly decollette, and from dignified sixty to blush- 
ing sixteen all women followed the decree with more 
or less exactness, and peeped through their fingers at 
the inevitable results. Grace had observed with 
heart-burnings of shame that the number of men in 
regular attendance at every social function had notice- 
ab’y increased during this period. Wine flowed 
freer, laughter and jests were louder, and she longed 
to testify in some quiet way to her disapproval of this 
demoralizing effect upon the society in which she 
moved. Knowing her influence, she hoped by so do- 
ing to turn the tide of public taste into safer channels. 

But she had a subtler reason for selecting this night 
of all others as a favorable opportunity for making her 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 45 

protest. For the first time since her marriage she 
must present herself unattended by her proper escort, 
and she hoped, by giving idle tongues something more 
interesting to talk about, to direct attention away from 
the gross delinquency of her husband, who to the last 
had stubbornly refused to accompany her. 

A little audible thrill followed her first promenade 
through the crowded ball-rooms with her girl-friend 
by her side. What marvel if this fair young bud 
imagined that the little wave of wonder was on her 
account. Possibly it was in part, but Grace, whose 
keen perceptions noted its character, knew that her 
quiet hint had been felt by nearly all present. Al- 
though she intuitively guessed that the gossips were 
whispering among themselves about her, it was not 
until late in the evening that she was approached by 
any one on the subject. 

'' As I was just saying, Mrs. Malray,'' said a hand- 
some matron, drawing Grace aside through the open 
windows, out upon a broad, second-story veranda, 
where a group of elderly women were gathered out 
of the way of the dancers, — '' As I was just saying, 
your gracious presence here to-night, as usual, throws 
all the rest of us beauties into the shades of partial 
oblivion. Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! But you will pardon, I am 
sure, a little feminine curiosity on our part, — old 
friends, you know — at your setting a new fashion 
in evening toilets when our ambitious hostess yonder 
is the recognized authority on such matters in our set. 
And at her own party, too ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! ’’ 

The good lady was inclined to be very merry. 


46 


A Woman’s Protest. 


‘‘ Don’t be ffended, Dear, at us old fogies. It was 
really quite courageous in you, and we all appreciate 
it heartily, Ha ! Ha ! '' 

I assure you,’' interposed Grace, hastily, that I 

have no wish to usurp Mrs. D in these matters. 

It is not for notoriety that I have ' set a new style,’ 
as you are pleased to term it, but the fact is, my con- 
science would not permit me to wait any longer for a 
reaction from the prevailing mode of evening-dress ; 
and I am sure we ought all to be adowed the freedom 
of our convictions.” 

O certainly,” some one replied, '' but please, Mrs. 
Malray, do give us the benefit of your original ideas.” 

“ O yes, please,” responded another, “ you are al- 
ways so deliciously frank, and quite original in your 
opinions.” 

‘‘ Well, if you really wish to know,” said Grace 
rather slowly, and in a subdued tone of voice, taking 
the proffered seat in their midst, I will submit my 
declaration and you must bear the consequences. 
Briefly, I have grown tired of catering to sensuality 
by a partial exposure of my figure.” 

Really, this is ” 

Why, Mrs. Mairav ! ” 

Ah ! ” 

These were some of the expressions of astonishment 
and dismay that broke from the little circle, like 
sparks from a bursting shell. 

'' Mrs. Malray,” said one woman rather spitefully, 
after a moment’s pause, “ were you not the prime 
mover in that Art Display at the Acadamy last Fall, 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 47 

where so many studies in the nude were ex- 
hibited?^’ 

‘‘ Yes, I was and I understand your inference,” re- 
plied Grace calmly. I received all the censure I ex- 
pected, and considerably more, for that effort to help 
in educating the popular mind to scenes of virtue and 
purity in art.” 

I fail to understand how you can entertain two 
such contrary opinions about one and the same thing,” 
responded one of the group, also somewhat offended. 

'' There is a distinct difference between the study of 
the exquisite grace and symmetry of a human form 
and the wearing of apparel which, by its suggestive- 
ness, bespeaks depraved tastes,” replied Grace, then 
added still more seriously : '' I do not mean that all 
women who dress after this fashion are indelicate, 
either in thought or intention, but the custom was 
created in sensuality, and found favor with an age of 
men and women less refined and pure than we are, 
and to-day is being kept alive for the secret indul- 
gence of the sensual emotions, to our shame and dis- 
honor. I could not speak thus plainly, I am sure, had 
I been measurably any wiser than yourselves, dear 
friends. It has only been by means of a long chain 
of convincing circumstances and impressive experi- 
ences that I have awakened to such startling conclu- 
sions, concerning these social indiscretions. While I 
would not presume to dictate to others, I feel con- 
vinced that when womanhood is once awakened to the 
dignity and grandeur of the progress of the age to- 
ward a higher standard of spiritual and moral devel- 


A Woman^s Protest. 


48 

opment, and fully realizes that the reins of mental 
government and power are in her hands, she will 
break loose from the shackles of fashionable slavery, 
and dress and do according to the dignity of her ex- 
alted position/' 

''What are all you old ladies whispering about?" 
cried a clear voice, as the laughing countenance of 
their hostess appeared between the half-drawn cur- 
tains. " I declare ! By the looks of your faces, I be- 
lieve you are conjuring evil charm: to frighten my 
guests by apparitions of spooks and bogies on their 
way home to-night. Ha ! Ha ! And here is young 
Mrs. Malray in your midst, a victim to your witchery. 
Well, I was just telling Miss Rosalie that you must 
have been spirited away, for we have hunted every- 
where for you. But here is the dear child, who has 
danced like a fairy all the evening, until her little feet 
have grown weary. I found her in the garden all 
alone, seeking for you and almost in tears. The poor 
child is tired." 

This last in a low aside as the trio advanced into the 
ball-room. 

" Ai'e you tired. Dear?" asked Grace solicitously, 
when their hostess had left them, " I did not intend to 
leave you so long. You look a little pale. Shall we 
not have some refreshments ? " 

" No, no, thank you, Mrs. Malray, I have been 
served to ices several times. But I have something I 
wish to tell you. Can we not slip away somewhere 
just for a few moments? " 

Grace, wondering, led the way through the crowd 


The Freedom of Her Convictions. 49 

to the garden, where they chose a rustic seat in a cool, 
secluded nook. 

‘‘ I don’t know but that it is very commonplace,” 
said Miss Rosalie tremulously, when they were seated, 
‘‘ and I suppose I’ll get used to it if it is, but, O, Mrs. 
Malray, after what has happened I feel as if I should 
never want to go to another ball, and this is my first, 
too.” 

My dear child, what is the matter?” cried Grace 
in alarm. 

The girl nestled close to her friend and with tears 
that she could no longer repress, whispered brokenly : 

“ You see it was all so new and delightful, and the 
dancing so superb, that I soon had ad the names on 
my program that I wanted, for I remembered what 
you said about dancing too often. Well, I engaged 
to waltz with a gentleman whom I knew to be of high 
social standing and whom our hostess had kindly in- 
troduced to me. When his turn came we went on the 
floor chatting pleasantly. He waltzed delightfully, 
and I forgot to talk, forgot everything save the music 
and the delicious rhythm of motion, when presently I 
noticed that he was holding me closer than any of the 
others had done, and his breath came quick and warm 
on my cheek ” 

The girl choked, and then said breathlessly, and 
the rest I can’t tell you. It wasn’t so very bad, I 
suppose, but I was blinded with mortification. Per- 
haps nobody noticed, but I felt as if every eye in the 
ball-room was upon me. And O, Mrs. Malray, he re- 
leased me without one word, as if it was all a matter 
9 


A Woman^s Protest. 


50 

of no consequence. But I just flew away from him 
then and out here, looking for you. 

See here.’^ 

The girl, with a convulsive sob, bent forward into 
the light and tore away from her bosom some fresh 
sprays of blooming jasmine, which she must have 
plucked in the garden and placed there, and lifted the 
delicate chiffon that adorned her corsage. It was all 
rumpled and worn, and the edges were quite frayed. 

Mrs. Malray's eyes streamed with tears as she 
clasped the fair young girl to her bosom. 

My poor, little innocent ! ’’ she sobbed. '' Never 
in all my own experience have I met with such an 
indignity as this.’' 


A Double Sorrow. 


51 


CHAPTER IV. 

A DOUBLE SORROW. 

Maple Villa, C , June 16, 189 — . 

My precious Daughter, Grace : 

‘‘ Your last letter bewilders me, quite. That you are 
unhappy is about the only thing that I can concmde. 
That you are troubled and want mother, gives me, I 
am bound to confess, a little thrill of gratification, to 
think you are still willing to turn to me for sympathy 
and he^p. 

‘‘ Your letters have not been quite satisfactory, 
Dear, since your marriage. I have missed the little 
confidences, the spontaneity of expression and the re- 
cital of all^ the little, warm, human details that a 
mother likes to hear. All this has made me feel that 
perhaps your life is not just everything that it should 
be, and I have pined much to see you. But I would 
not ofifer to come, so now I am glad when, with some- 
thing of your old imperative spirit, you say, ‘ Come to 
me. Mother, I want you.’ And I am coming, my 
Darling. When you read these lines I shall be on the 
way. And, O Grace, my child, it is with the clinging 
hope that I shall not find you much changed, but that 


52 


A Woman’s Protest, 


you will be just your own affectionate, confiding self, 
ready to trust a mother’s love and keep back nothing 
that interests or concerns you. 

All your young life, my daughter, did I try to 
shield you from all the world’s wickedness, that your 
mind might not be troubled with bitter thoughts, but 
when you married I had to give you over into another’s 
care, and O, how I feared for your happiness ! So I 
come. Hoping you will tell me all, — all that I cannot 
see for myself. Until we meet face to face, my dear 
child, I am, 

‘‘ As ever, your mother, who loves you best and 
most faithfully, Evelyn Sunday.” 

For considerations of her own, Grace had carefully 
withheld from her mother the true reason of this 
sudden desire for her presence. The facts of the case 
were that she herself was on the eve of motl erhood, 
and she felt that she could not share any hope or joy 
there was in the prospect without having also a 
mother’s ready sympathy to console her in her pain 
and sorrow at being obliged to assume what was, under 
existing circumstances, a regrettable responsibility. 
In her present state of mental disturbance of mingled 
doubt, disappointment and despair, together with her 
husband’s dissolute habits and declining self-respect, 
Grace felt that child-rearing was about the most un- 
desirable thing they could do, — to bring another soul 
into the world with a prefixed destiny of suffering and 
possible degeneracy of character. 

What made the trial still harder to bear was her 


A Double Sorrow. ^3 

firm conviction that her husband secretly exulted over 
her condition. Not, however, because of his desire 
for offspring; that, she thought, would have been 
noble and admirable. No, it was with the hope that 
her coming illness and the subsequent care of a child 
would keep his wife, for a time at least, from mingling 
much in the fashionable circles in which she' now 
moved, thus perhaps making her life more pliant to 
his caprices. Losing, as he was, his own enjoyment 
in the circles of popular society in which he had 
formerly taken pride, and had felt some ambition 
both for himself and his young wife, he was now ag- 
gravated at seeing Grace calmly moving on without 
him in much the same manner as before. He could 
not endure to see her steadily gaining in precedence 
and power, and queening it over all her associatewS 
with that quiet dignity of superiority and strength, 
which daily grew in her and which became more and 
more inexplicable to him. 

However, in spite of all this, Grace submitted to the 
inevitable as cheerfully as her circumstances would 
allow, determined to do the best she could for her 
child, by establishing the best possible environments 
for herself during this trying period. But, as the 
time of her confinement drew near, and she felt her- 
self growing physically weaker, her courage waned 
perceptibly, and she realized that it was by no means 
best for her to pass through this ordeal alone. And, 
as her thoughts reverted to her mother, she knew that 
that mother had the right and would most eagerly 
claim the privilege of sharing this new and unsought 


54 


A Woman^s Protest. 


experience with her. With that mother by her side, 
however, Grace took hope once more and allowed the 
warmth and love of coming motherhood to exert its 
influence over her. After all, she thought, would not 
a dear little child of their very own almost fill the 
dreary void that yawned between her and her hus- 
band? Furthermore, what results for good might 
not become manifest under the sacred responsibilities 
of their united parenthood? Would not a baby's rosy 
fingers, clasping hers and his together, lead them ir- 
resistibly into brighter paths of mutual love and 
sympathy? And so with such hopes as these occupy- 
ing her thoughts, she went bravely on, planning for 
the future of that innocent little life that she was now 
cherishing so warmly beneath her heart. 

Something of this agreeable mental attitude she en- 
deavored to impart to her husband one evening when 
a cold autumnal rain had caused him to keep to the 
shelter of the house. He was seated before the 
library fire, lazily breathing the aroma of a fragrant 
cigar, when Grace, entering, drew a low chair close 
to his own luxurious sleepy hollow, and said gently: 

Alan, dear, if our baby lives, do you not think its 
presence will make us both happier ? " A curious 
smile flitted across Alan's face as he lay back among 
the soft cushions with half-closed eyelids, and puffed 
quietly for a moment. ‘‘ I don’t know, Grace," he re- 
plied at last, I am sure, I have never thought very 
much about it." 

I suppose we can never know just what all it will 
mean to us until we can clasp it in our arms and know 


A Double Sorrow. 


55 


it is our very own, yours and mine, Dear. I think it 
may help us to love each other very much more, don’t 
you think it may ? ” said Grace with tender pleading, 
laying her hand caressingly upon her husband’s 
shoulder. But Alan only frowned impatiently. 

'' O, come, Grace, don’t get sentimental over such a 
subject. I don’t suppose a child or two, more or less, 
in the world makes very much difference, anyway.” 
Grace involuntarily shivered and her hands dropped 
suddenly into her lap. Alan laughed lightly at this 
gesture, but as if conscious of too much harshness, 
took her cold fingers in his. '' What’s the use? It is 
simply a struggle for the survival of the fittest, and a 
very unequal struggle it is. If one is born under 
favorable circumstances, or comes because it is 
wanted, ninety-nine are the result of accident.” 

But, Alan, such children are the fruits of depravity 
and sensuous passion, born into the world with in- 
herited tendencies to vice, criminality, disease and all 
kinds of attendant miseries. O, it is wrong, I am 
sure it is wrong! To create new life without love 
and without purity is as wicked as outright murder.” 

What a girl you are, Grace, to stir yourself up over 
nothing of consequence I What difference does a few 
children, more or less, make among the masses? 
Over one-half of them die before they are ten years 
old, and they are the worst half, too. Unloved and 
unwelcomed, why shouldn’t they die?” ‘"Yes,” 
Grace responded, gazing dreamily into the cozy fire, 
‘‘ it is better that they should die, but ah, far better 
for them and their parents, too, had they never been 


56 


A Woman’s Protest. 


born. I am glad our child will be differently envi- 
roned; it will at least be loved if it be not ” A 

conflicting thought cut short her last observation, and 
looking quickly up into her husband’s face, she saw 
in his sinister smile that while he understood her, he 
had no sympathy with her thoughts. Rising hastily 
she put her chair in its usual place, saying as she did 
so ; Shall I sing for you, Alan ? I have some new 
airs from comic opera that I think you will like to 
hear.^’ 

Then she went out, and Alan, bending forward, 
threw the stub of his cigar into the grate and watched 
it glow and fade into ashes ere he rose with a little 
sigh and followed his wife to the drawing-room, 
guided by the sound of restless thrumming upon the 
piano keys. 

That Alan Malray’s love for his wife was not yet 
quite extinguished by his growing selfishness, was 
plainly evinced on that memorable night when he 
paced up and down the lower hall for hours, listening 
intently to the incessant moaning of his wife in the 
chamber above, while now and then a smothered shriek 
would cause him to stop short in suspense and terror 
lest he never again should hear that voice. When at 
last he was called to witness her pale form lying in 
the semblance of death, under the influence of anaes- 
thetics, his own vitals seemed torn within him by his 
spasmodic fits of suspense, anguish and remorse. And 
when once more her eyes opened, staring wildly, the 
husband fell on his knees by the bedside and wept 
passionately. When, at the sound of her child’s cry, 


A Double Sorrow. 57 

her hands reached out for it feebly, he caught those 
hands and covered them with tender kisses. 

For three weeks the home of tbe Malrays was dark- 
ened by gloom. Death hovered constantly near as if 
undecided to take one or two victims. Alan himself 
looked like a fit subject for a funeral with his much 
watching and anxiety. Mrs. Bunday spent alter- 
nately anxious hours between her daughter’s bedside 
and the darkened nursery, where in its little cradle the 
feeble infant lay in suffering. Through some negli- 
gence on the part of the attendants at the time of its 
birth,, the infant’s eyes had never opened to the light 
of day. Nor was much promise given of their ever 
doing so. Great was the joy therefore, and relief un- 
speakable in Mrs. Bunday’s heart when at last one day 
the sweet babe opened its great blue orbs and wailed 
with the pain of the light of Earth. And almost in 
that same hour for the first time since its birth Grace 
inquired of the welfare of her child. 

From that time the infant throve uninterruptedly, 
but the mother gained strength slowly. Yet it was 
some time before her solicitous physicians found cour- 
age to reveal to her the terrible truth that many long 
months must pass before the invalid could hope to 
rise from her couch again. This was a crushing blow 
to Grace, who felt that her life was not worth the ef- 
fort it would cost her to live through those months of 
pain. What had she to enjoy that she should struggle 
to prolong an existence of physical suffering and 
mental torture? So far as she could see, Death was 
far more preferable. But she did not die, and as 


58 


A Woman’s Protest. 


time dragged wearily on, and her strength slowly 
returned to her, something of the old indomitable 
spirit and energy crept back into her life and fed the 
smoldering vital flame into renewed warmth and 
vigor. 

Spring’s balmy zeyphrs found Grace able to be up 
in a reclining chair for a part of each day, and to be 
out-of-doors when the weather permitted, with her 
mother and her child for company. Mrs. Bunday and 
her daughter became better acquainted in those days 
than they had ever been before. Grace having been 
fully initiated into the mysteries of life, the two could 
converse upon many themes hitherto silent topics be- 
tween them when, in her growing girlhood, they two 
had been associated together. Grace’s unhappy mar- 
riage, with its experiences so bitter and unlooked for, 
was a theme for frequent discussion. Mrs. Bunday 
confessed that she had foreseen much of the misery 
that her daughter had been forced to endure, for she 
knew her proud, independent spirit must chafe and 
fret under the new order of things that she had taken 
upon herself, even though her wedded life would 
prove comparatively prosperous and happy as the 
world saw it. 

Her own wedded life, she told Grace, had been 
fraught with many unwelcome duties and disappoint- 
ments, which resulted in much secret rebellion and 
sufifering of soul. She had fearfully anticipated there- 
fore, and had seen plainly manifest in her daughter 
a nature even more susceptible to sufifering under 
similar circumstances than her own had been, and 


A Double Sorrow. 


59 


this had made her dread above all things to see her 
daughter enter the marriage estate, no matter how 
loving and considerate that other one might be to 
whom she gave herself. 

When told all this Grace had burst into tears. 

'' Mother, Mother,'' she cried, why did you not 
tell me these terrible things in time to prevent me 
from all that I have had to bear without preparation 
of any kind ? " 

But Mrs. Bunday had only lifted her hands dep- 
recatingly, as she replied: 

My Dear, what could I have done? You were in 
love, and as union with the opposite sex is proper and 
right and, under natural conditions, really desirable, 
I would not keep you from enjoying that privilege 
by any forebodings of mine. Besides, your sufferings 
are not uncommon, nor remarkable. But where is 
the remedy? Perhaps everything is just as Provi- 
dence intended it should be, as it is. I do not venture 
to say that it is not. Anyhow, I did not have the cour- 
age to enlighten you much. Women rarely address 
their daughters on such subjects as these. The reason 
is, I suppose, that we ourselves marry in ignorance, 
and so we keep our hands off, as it were, and permit 
our daughters to do the same." 

One night when Alan had not returned to dinner, 
Grace, being wakeful, heard him come softly in at the 
front door and go up to his room with unsteady foot- 
steps just as the hall-clock was striking three. She 
sighed deeply as she thought of the ever increasing 
frequency of this occurrence, wondering vaguely, 


6o 


A Woman’s Protest. 


dumbly what kind of a dual life it was he was living 
and what was to be the end of it all. 

That day as she was lying in her wheel-chair in the 
garden with her mother seated in a low rustic seat 
near by, engaged with some dainty sewing for the 
baby, Grace suddenly broke the stilmess of the sunny 
afternoon with a cynical laugh, which caused her 
mother to drop her sewing in her lap and look up ques- 
tion: ngly. 

'' Mother,’' she said in a reflective tone, what do 
men do when their wives are sick? Where do they 
go?" 

Mercy, Grace ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Bunday, much 
shocked, ‘‘ what an inference ! It sounds almost 
wicked.” 

But it isn’t. Mother, I am sure. They must go 
somewhere, you know, when they haven’t their wife 
for company.” 

“ Wed then, I guess a good many of them go to the 
dickens,” replied her mother, trying to relieve the 
gravity of the subject with a little humor. But Grace 
only replied soberly : 

'' Then that is where mine is going as fast as he 
can. I never knew him to be so over-kind to me as 
he has been of late.” 

O, that is because you are sick.” 

Not entirely. Mother. He is trying to deceive 
me, that is plain. He appears to want to hide some- 
thing or other, as if he were ashamed of it.” 

'' Well, Dearie, I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were 
you. Let him go to the dickens, or any other bad 


A Double Sorrow. 6i 

place if he must/’ responded her mother consol- 
ingly. 

“ But, Mother,” expostulated Grace, he is my hus- 
band, you know, and I love him and would sacrifice 
so much to save him from disgrace and depravity. 
Yet I must lie still with folded hands and see him 
slipping away out of my love and my influence, appar- 
ently powerless to save him.” 

And the poor young wife wept bitterly, while her 
mother, at an utter loss how to answer her, tried only 
by endearing terms to comfort and soothe her. 

As if in apology for his delinquency of the previous 
night, Alan came home early that evening, bringing 
his wife some choice fruit, and the baby a pretty toy. 

You are not gaining in strength so rapidly as I 
would like to see you do, Gracie,” he said to his wife 
as he kissed her good night in her bed, '' and so I have 
srranged for you and Mother and baby to go and 
spend a few months at the sea-shore. You need the 
change, and the salt sea-air will do you good, I am 
sure.” 

'' O, that will be so nice, Alan. I could not have 
wished anything much better for myself,” replied the 
invalid wistfully, '' and you will go with us, will you 
not?” 

O, no, I could not posibly get away from business 
this year. I may run down for a few days or a week 
during the hot season. But I want you to prepare for 
the journey as soon as possible that you may be out 
of the city before the heated term sets in.” 

Grace was truly glad of the prospect of leaving the 


62 


A Woman’s Protest. 


familiar rooms of a home where she had been shut in 
so long, and in which she had suffered so much. 
Eager, therefore, to be gone they made hasty prepara- 
tions and while the season was yet early the little 
party set off for the coast, where the cool breezes 
brought quick refreshment to the invalid’s tired 
spirits, and fanned her pallid cheeks until once more 
the roses blushed faintly on the beautiful face, and a 
brighter light shone from the sorrowful eyes. 

Four delightful months of out-door life by the side 
of a summer sea did wonders for Grace. And so 
steadily did she improve that at the end of that period 
she was able to be up and about most of the day and 
to walk without assistance. The sweet baby-girl too 
had grown plump, rosy and full of exuberant life, so 
that she was a great comfort and solace to the young 
mother. 

The Malray home had been kept closed during her 
absence, only one trusty old woman servant having 
been retained to care for the house and put it in order 
against the return of its mistress. Grace was, there- 
fore, much surprised on her arrival to find the old 
serving-woman gone and an inexperienced negress in 
her place. Alan did not appear to know exactly why 
the old servant had left, she had only been gone a 
few days, he said, but he believed she had found a 
place more to her liking in a boarding-house some- 
where. This explanation was not satisfactory to 
Grace, who believed the old servant to be very much 
attached to her mistress and very well satisfied with 
her position. 


A Double Sorrow. 63 

Alan apologized for the appearance of the house. 
The new servant was willing, but inexperienced, he 
said. Had broken some things perhaps ; at least, he 
suspected so. 

Yes, in response to a query of hers, he had been up 
to the house several times to see that all was well. 
Had even spent a part of his time there. He had also 
put in a few new bits of furnishings during her ab- 
sence which he hoped would please her. Had bought 
most of them at a sale. 

Of course he was much gratified to see her so much 
better. Pale and haggard, was he? Well, he had 
worked long, and hard and late; he hoped for a brief 
vacation now soon. 

Many things that came to light during the first few 
days after her home-coming puzzled and troubled 
Grace. While instructing a new parlor maid in her 
duties she chanced to lift a handsome new rug that had 
been added during her absence, when to her astonish- 
ment, on the velvet carpet beneath it, she discovered a 
large, dull-red stain like that of wine or other liquor. 
She replaced the rug without comment, but the inci- 
dent served to confirm her worst suspicions. After 
this, little by little as she felt able, Grace made a care- 
ful survey of every room in the house. With charac- 
teristic lack of foresight in her husband nearly every 
new thing that had been added during her absence 
covered some break or injury, or replaced some actual 
removal of furniture or bric-a-brac. 

In the dining-room she had cause to regret the loss 
of some fine linen, although there was nothing partic- 


A Woman's Protest. 


64 

ularly unaccountable in that, owing to so many 
changes in servants. But several of her choicest 
pieces of china, which were rarely used, were nicked 
and cracked. A handsome set of claret cups had 
found prominent place on her side-board, a commod- 
ity which she had always refused to accommodate be- 
fore. Reclining on a couch in her own private sitting- 
room one day she saw something sparkling in the 
crease of the upholstery where the back of the couch 
joined the seat, and prying deep with her fingers she 
finally drew forth a tawdry gold bracelet. It was an 
inexplicable mystery. 

All these diversities in a house supposed to be un- 
occupied. 

Grace showed the bracelet to her husband who 
peevishly reproved her for bothering him with such 
trifles. Of course it belonged to one of the servants. 

For some reason Grace did not confide these things 
to her mother, who was preparing to return to her 
own home within the near future, but she cher- 
ished them in her heart and brooded over them in 
secret. 

The day following her mother’s departure, Grace, 
feeling very lonely, was seated in the nursery by the 
window^ looking out into the cold Autumnal rain, 
when a cab drove up to the curb-stone before the 
house from which her husband hastily alighted. 
With an intuitive sense that something was wrong, 
Grace hurried down-stairs and met her husband in 
the hall. In response to her anxious inquiry Alan put 
his arm about his wife’s waist and led her into the 


A Double Sorrow. 65 

library, where he drew her clown to a seat upon his 
knees and said with unusual tenderness; 

After all that you have suffered, Grace, for the 
last fourteen months it deeply pains me to be the 
bearer of such sad, sad news. The train that bore 
your dear mother homeward last night was thrown off 
a steep embankment by collision with a special freight, 

just beyond the bridge over the N river. Some 

of the passengers were killed and many wounded. 
Your mother was picked up unconscious, but it was 
thought not seriously injured, and tenderly cared for 
in a house near by, until — this morning 

Alan hesitated and looked anxiously at his wife's 
pallid face from which every trace of color had fled. 

Go on,'' she said in a breathless whisper. 

She died to-day at noon, without having been able 
to speak once. Gracie, my poor girl, I am so sorry." 

Grace, springing from her husband’s arms, stared at 
him for a moment stonily^ then with a tremor quiver- 
ing over her whole frame she exclaimed in an altered 
voice : 

It isn't true, Alan. It is all a hideous mistake ! " 
but her own words belied her and the sense of it 
awoke her to a reahzation of the terrible fact. 

O Alan," she wailed piteously, ‘‘ it cannot be true 
can it? My mother, my precious mother, how can I 
live without you ? " 

Alan rose in time to clasp the poor sufferer in his 
arms as, with a heavy sigh, she fell swooning upon 
him, and lifting her frail form he carried her up to her 
room and laid her upon her own bed. 

5 


66 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Grace never looked upon her mother’s face again, 
for nervous prostration followed this terrible affliction 
and again laid her upon a bed of suflfering ; and when 
once more she was able to creep out of her room the 
ground was white with mid-winter snows, while the 
social circles in which she had found so much pleas- 
ure in former days were now in the very vortex of 
their annual round of gaiety. But Grace had little in- 
clination to mingle with her old friends, or to have 
them seek her association very much. She felt 

broken-spirited and disheartened and wanted to be 
much alone. So she hid herself as much as possible 
from the world and spent her lonely hours in com- 
pany with her child and her gloomy, brooding 

thoughts. 

Verily the heroism and long-suffering fortitude of 
Grace Malray was destined to be tried to its utmost 
capacity ere ever the cup of sorrow that had been 
placed to her lips should be taken from her. She was 
ordained, apparently, to drink even its most bitter 
dregs, and empty the cup at last. How merciful the 
Providence that spares us from knowing what life 
holds in store for us. Day by day we are able to bear 
that which would crush out the very life of the soul 
were we allowed for one moment to look down the 
vistas of the inexorable future. 

It was indeed a sorrowful day for Grace 
when some six months after her mother’s death she 
again found it expedient to prepare for com- 
ing motherhood, and fierce was the battle that 
she waged with herself whether to yield to the im 


A Double Sorrow. 


67 


clination to put an end to all her earthly suffering, or 
to live to bring another blighted bud of immortality 
into existence to suffer for the sins of its parents. But 
the precious life of the little girl who was now such 
a comfort and delight to her, and such a lovely blos- 
som of beauty and sweetness, gave her the impetus 
to live on for this sweet child’s sake, so long as pos- 
sible. Besides, the chances for her living through an- 
other ordeal of this kind were very slender, indeed, 
and the foreboding that she might thus find relief in 
death was not without a doubtful sense of comfort 
to her distracted mind. As the days went by, she 
struggled to do her best to create the right mental 
influences for the coming one, but in spite of all her 
efforts, each day found her sadder and more depressed. 
She could not maintain a cheerful demeanor, even in 
the presence of her child, and tears were often on her 
cheeks without her being aware of them. Alas ! there 
was now no mother near her to banish these bitter 
tears by tender words of solace and comfort. 

About the time of her expected illness her husband 
was called to a distant city on imperative business mat- 
ters, so that Grace was left practically alone, which in 
itself was a great trial to her. She warned her hus- 
band that he might never see her alive again, and Alan 
was not without the same serious apprehensions. Sur- 
rounded by competent physicians and nurses, Grace 
was not without the best of care, and came through 
the ordeal without the grave residts anticipated. But 
the infant, as the mother had feared, was a weakly, 
puling little creature, with a great head and a feeble, 


68 


A Woman’s Protest. 


ill-formed body, — a pitiable little thing, that, moaning 
continually, seemed to bewail the cruel fate that ever 
brought it into existence. 

As the physician laid it gently in her arms an hour 
after its birth, he said very kindly, “ Its little life is 
like a slender wax taper. The vital flame can only 
last a few days at longest,, and may flicker out at any 
moment.” 

Grace kept the tiny form close to her breast all that 
day and far into the next night, when awakening 
from a fitful slumber, she found the little body stiff 
and waxy and cold in death. Her cry of mother an- 
guish roused the nurse, who very gently lifted the still 
form from its warm nest and bore it from the room. 

Alan Malray, arriving home late the next after- 
noon, was just in time to see the little body laid in its 
narrow bed of white, and taking the tiny casket in his 
own hands he entered the waiting cab with two sym- 
pathetic friends and bore his dead child away, to be 
laid forever in the dark womb of Earth. 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head. 6g 


CHAPTER V. 

THROUGH THE EYES IN THE BUFFALOES HEAD. 

One stormy February day, while Grace lay reading 
on a couch in her own room, a servant entered and 
announced a visitor. Not expecting a stranger, she 
ordered that the person might be shown to her room 
where she could receive her guest without rising. 

‘‘ I have spent so much time on my back that I have 
quite forgotten the art of ceremony,’* said Grace pleas- 
antly, as' she extended her hand to a rather timid 
young woman who was ushered into her presence. 
'' But whom have I the privilege of entertaining? For 
I never remember of having seen your face before.” 

‘‘ My name is Ada Burt,” said the young woman 
simply, showing some confusion. 

Very well. Miss Burt. You will please be seated, 
and if you have anything to say to me, I will be en- 
tirely at leisure to listen to you.” 

Gaining some self-assurance from Mrs. Malray’s 
genial manner, the stranger took a low chair near to 
her hostess’s couch and said in a suppressed tone of 
voice : 

“ I have something of importance to say to you, 
Mrs. Malray, if you will allow me, — at least it is of 
importance to myself. But, considering its nature, I 


70 


A Woman's Protest. 


think I would feel more at ease if we are assured of 
perfect privacy before I state even the character of my 
communication.” 

“You may say what you please,” replied Grace, a 
little reservedly, “ for we are quite alone, and no one 
enters here without first asking my permission.” 

The two women scrutinized each other closely for 
a moment. To her young guest Grace bore a striking 
resemblance to a pale, fair lily hanging broken on its 
stem, which though bruised and sullied still retained 
much of its imperial beauty. How proud she was, yet 
too broken to be haughty. How superior, how noble, 
yet in her weakness how approachable and kind. She 
felt herself presently experiencing something very 
akin to adoration for this beautiful gentlewoman, who 
seemed like the saints of the religion to which she 
clung, to have been made chaste, pure and sinless 
through much suffering and affliction. 

From these impressions the girl gained confidence 
and grew stronger for the coming ordeal than she had 
dared to hope she ever could be. 

On the other hand the young woman's appearance 
was not displeasing to Grace. In stature short 
and inclined to that plumpness and roundness of out- 
line so becoming in women, with soft, waving brown 
hair, sad blue eyes with languorous lids, and a weak 
though pretty pair of rosy lips. Her attire was in 
good taste, though simple and somewhat worn, and 
though it became her wed, yet lacked that exquisite 
grace of refinement which marks the high born. She 
belonged, obviously, to the middle class of society, 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head. 71 

and looked as if, on the whole, life had been none too 
kind to her. 

“ Of course you do not recognize me, ]\|rs. Malray, 
but I know your face well, having seen you many 
times, and even waited upon you, in the Hotel de 
Royale, where I was in service for some years. Had 
1 not known you thus, and observed you under va- 
rious conditions, I might never have found courage to 
come here as I have done to-day to oflfer you the sad 
confession I desire to make, and which in reality so 
nearly concerns yourself.’’ 

This faltering speech was made with bent head, and 
with nervous fingers twisting convulsively the hand- 
kerchief in her lap. 

If the disclosure you desire to make is a truthful 
one and does really concern myself, I am sure I ought 
to be made aware of it,” said Grace not unkindly, and 
thus encouraged the woman proceeded to tell her 
story with more composure of manner. 

'' I have been a friendless orphan since early child- 
hood ; that is, I have had no one to care for me save 
strangers. Yet up until two years ago I led a pure, 
chaste life. Though I had been employed in the Hotel 
de Royale for some time previous to this of which I 
am about to speak, and owing to my environments, had 
been tempted in every way that a young girl could be, 
I had never wavered in my determination to keep my- 
self virtuous ; not without hope, I am bound to con- 
fess, that some day I might be honestly and happily 
married to some good man. 

As you are of course aware, your husband, Mr. 


72 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Malray, owns large shares in the Hotel de Royale, 
and taken altogether, he has spent a good deal of time 
there within the past three years. His private suite of 
rooms is one of the finest in the establishment, and 
I have long had charge of his apartments, with those 
of others. So that, what with caring for his rooms 
and waiting upon him as I was expected to do when- 
ever he was present, we became in time quite well 
acquainted. 

‘‘ He was always kind to me and never so familiar 
as some men were wont to be, so that he easily gained 
my confidence. He seemed to like to have me to tadc 
to, and often called me to his rooms on some trifling 
errand only to detain me to converse with him. One 
time in the early Summer he came there to remain, 
and so I necessarily saw much of him. At last one day 
he came in when I was dusting his room, and closing 
the door he drew me down upon his knee and told 
me he was very lonely and wanted his little girl to 
love him if she could. 

'' I was a bit surprised and did not answer just at 
first, until he pressed the matter, and then I asked 
him rather saucily if he didn't have anybody else to 
love him better than I could do. 

'' He evaded my query with his jokes, though he 
knew well enough whom I meant, but I teased him 
about it until at last he told me in a pathetic way all 
about your long illness, and that now you were gone 
away, and he was more lonely than ever ; and anyhow, 
he confessed, he did not believe you loved him very 
much, nor cared. 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo s Head. 73 

I felt somehow that this was untrue, because j^ou 
always had seemed so devoted to him, in an unobtru- 
sive way, whenever I had seen you together, and more 
than once I had observed the look of suppressed anx- 
iety on your face when he drank too freely of wine 
at the big banquets you used to attend at the hotel, 
and at which I always managed to be allowed to assist. 

“ My interest in him, I suppose, made me scrutinize 
you very closely whenever I found an opportunity. 
And I long ago made up my mind that you were a 
good and true wife, while he was a spoiled and selfish 
husband. 

Still he had petted me until I grew very fond of 
him, and on that day when he took me in his arms 
and kissed me, I didn't run away from him as I ought 
to have done ; but after I left his room I felt a little 
ashamed of what had happened and I resolved to cut 
loose from him at once, so that he could not repeat the 
incident. But I soon found out that this was not so 
easy a thing to do. I asked the landlord to change my 
work with a girl on another floor, she being willing, 
but he told me gruffly to stay where I was or give up 
my situation. I could not afford to do this, so I staid 
and continued to meet and wait upon Mr. Malray 
almost daily. I can't tell you just how it was, for I 
hardly know myself, but somehow I was just led on 
and on until I found myself giving him all the love 
of my woman's heart, and then the rest was easy, and 
before I realized what it all meant it became too late 
to turn back. After this I got into a way of thinking 
that it wasn't so very wicked after all. I was so alone 


74 


A Woman’s Protest. 


in the world and Alan was very good to me. So I 
stumbled on like one in a dream, fascinated by his ten- 
derness to me, and blinded by my love for him. No- 
body ever knew of our attachment, or if they did, they 
didn’t care, so we were never approached about it. 
We often met somewhere of evenings and took long 
walks, and sometimes he took me to a little theater 
where we sat together in a curtained box. Several 
months thus passed, which at the time I thought were 
the happiest of my life, but which I have since learned 
to look upon as the most miserable, — a mere mockery, 
my happiness was, that deceived my heart and ruined 
my life. 

Well, one day after dinner he called me to his 
room and told me he had invited a party of friends up 
to his own house to spend the evening with him and 
have a good time, and he desired that I too should be 
present. He told me just how I was to go and I 
promised to do as he wished. So at the appointed 
hour, which was a little before midnight, I slipped out 
of a side door of the hotel that opened on a secluded 
street, and there was a cab waiting for me in which 
I was quickly driven to this place. I felt timid and 
afraid, but following instructions I went up the steps 
and the c^reat front door opened at once, and though 
the hallway was dark, there being no light visible any- 
where, I felt myself being drawn gently in by some- 
one, and as soon as the outer door closed an inner 
door leading into the drawing-room opened, emitting 
a flood of cheerful light, and Alan came out and 
greeted me kindly, removed my wraps for me, saying 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head. 75 

he wished me to have as good a time as I could. Then 
we went in together into the drawing-room where a 
dozen well-dressed ladies and as many gentlemen, all 
intelligent looking and brilliant, were variously en- 
gaged, some in lively converse, some card-playing and 
some sipping wine. 

Alan did not introduce me, but the little circle 
nearest the door drew me smilingly into their midst, 
as if they understood who I was and why I was there. 

There was much freedom among them and some 
questionable merriment perhaps, but I never saw a 
company who appeared to have such a thoroughly 
good time. 

In an hour or so we were invited into the dining- 
room, where an elegant repast had been spread, evi- 
dently by experienced hands. But there were no serv- 
ants visible, and no serving was done except as each 
helped the other. Much wine was passed of which 
all save myself drank freely, and so. in a little while, 
as I feared it would be, the little company became 
boisterous and hilarity ran riot, yet it was not gross 
nor particularly indelicate. They did not seem to feel 
that they were others than ladies and gentlemen, and 
I am sure most of them were of high birth. 

'' Even when we returned to the drawing-room 
some of the men were not satisfied, but called for more 
wine. There is an ugly stain on the carpet in that 
room where some one dropped a glass of champagne. 
I sopped it up as quickly as I could with a silken 
picture-scarf, which I afterwards carried away with 
rne and burned. 


A Woman’s Protest. 


76 

Well, when they were all tired to death with their 
frolic, Alan himself showed each couple to a room, 
then came back for me, and together we came up here, 
where Alan soon fell into a deep sleep there on the 
couch where you are lying, for, like the rest, he had 
drunk heavily. I curled up in the reclining chair 
yonder, but I could not sleep, and at the first peep of 
day I aroused Alan and we went about warning the 
guests that it was time to depart. It was hard work 
getting them started, for they were stupid with much 
eating and drinking, but the last one was gone before 
there was much stir in the streets. 

I told Alan I would remain for an hour and help 
clean up, which appeared to please him greatly. I 
found the old house-servant in the kitchen furiously 
angry with such goings-on, yet melted to tears out 
of pity for you. She declared that you should hear 
all about it from her own lips, but when I told Alan 
of it afterwards he laughed and said he would see to 
that.’’ 

The speaker, who had talked very rapidly as if to 
hasten through a painful task, paused for a moment in 
her narrative, hesitatingly. In the interval Grace sud- 
denly drew from the drawer of a low cabinet near her 
the mysterious gold bracelet. 

Perhaps you can give me a clue to this,” she said 
in a voice that was sharp with suppressed pain. The 
young girl started. 

'' Yes, that is mine,” she replied. Alan took it 
from my arm that night, for the clasp was hurting 
me, and he never could remember where he laid it.” 


Through the E3^es in the Buffalo’s Head. 77 

'' Well, go on,” said Grace, returning the bauble to 
its hiding-place. 

“ The rest is harder to relate,” replied the young 
girl tremulously. It was some months after this 
when I one day made the awful discovery, to my 
horror and remorse, that I was to some day give birth 
to a child. I was so frightened at the prospect that 
I did not know what to do. I felt convinced that 
already everybody in the house was conscious of my 
shame, while I, in my ignorance and folly, had not 
dreamed of such results. I dreaded above all things 
to tell Alan, fearing that he would cast me utterly 
away from him ; but knowing that I must get away 
from the hotel, I was forced to turn to him for help 
and advice, so I finady confessed the truth to him. 

He was sorry, of course, but told me not to fret 
as he would provide for me, and so he did, for in a 
few days he sent me away by myself to a private 
suburban hospital, where I was comfortably cared for. 
But 1 soon learned that my worst fears were realized. 

I had been deserted. 

‘‘ During the four months of my stay in the hospital 
I neither saw nor heard from Alan once. My ex- 
penses were paid for until I was well enough to go out' 
to service again, and then, it was apparent, I was to 
be left to drift. It was no more than I could expect, 
yet it was hard indeed to bear, for I loved him 
fondlv.” 

“And the child?” broke in Grace impatiently, 
“ what of it ? ” 

“ Being of premature birth it did not live,” said the 


78 


A Woman’s Protest. 


young woman sadly. I was very ill, but was not 
long in recovering strength sufficient to carry me out 
into the world apain. Of course I could not go back 
to my old place in the hotel, where my disgrace was 
known, and for a time I was at a loss what I should 
do. Crushed by the stigma I had brought upon my- 
self, knowing as I did that wherever I went in all the 
great city it would surety follow me to blight my 
chances for a livelihood, it was long before I could 
find anything suitable to do that would hide me from 
the world and yet give me respectable employment 
and a home. 

'' How often during those days of weary confine- 
ment did my thoughts revert to you, living your life 
of ease and honor, with your husband, your home and 
your child. Ah, forgive me, if in those days I often 
thought of you with bitter envy (though I wished you 
no harm), for I too loved Alan Malray, though in 
vain. As time went on, however, and I found myseif 
without a place to lay my head, I felt drawn to come 
to you and reveal all, believing some way that you 
would not be unkind, and might be able to help me. 
But m}^ native pride restrained me from making the 
effort and taking so great a risk, so I allowed that the 
best way was to redeem myse'f independently of any 
one. 

Finally I answered an advertisement of an elderly 
lady who wanted some homeless girl to act as com- 
panion and assistant in light housework. She was a 
nice person and without asking me any questions of 
a personal nature she accepted me as the one she 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head. 79 

wanted, and proceeded to instruct me at once in my 
duties. She told me she was a childless widow with 
no regular income, having only the rent from a few 
houses that she owned, to support her in her declining 
years. She occupied the half of a large tenement 
house, the other part of which was rented to some 
parties who had fitted it up as an institution for the 
private interests of a fashionable and aristocratic people 
who moved in high circles, more or less of whom con- 
gregated here nightly. 

It was her duty to care for the rooms and act as 
housekeeper, to aid in serving meals, etc., when there 
were guests present. Recently the proprietors had 
put in a new device in the way of amusement, which 
demanded the presence of another individual who 
like herself could keep secrets. It was to meet this 
demand that she had especially hired me. She showed 
me a narrow ladder on the inner wall of her house 
which terminated at a small landing on which was 
just room enough for one person to sit on the low 
chair it held. At her bidding I mounted this ladder 
and when seated discovered a box-shaped affair set 
deep in the partition, in which were two small round 
windows of thick, yellow, convex glass, and a little 
below these a long metal tube that opened into the 
other apartment. On putting an eye to one of these 
windows I found that I could command almost a full 
view of the room below, while a look through the 
other glass gave me a sight of all the rear of the 
room, everything being somewhat magnified by the 
convex lens. 


8o 


A Woman’s Protest. 


The apartments into which I was thus permitted 
to gaze were indeed elegant. Handsome carpets, 
great easy chairs and sofas, tables, and on the walls 
rich tapestries and paintings. In full line of vision, 
being nearly below, was a rosewood round table, 
which being inlaid with diagrams containing numbers 
enclosed in geometrical designs, and having attached 
a long steel needle on a pivot and also a richly carved 
wheel, which stood upright, was, I concluded, some 
game of chance with which I would have something 
to do. 

On descending from the ladder my new employer 
took me into these apartments by way of a rear door. 
I looked at once for the little windows and found they 
were two yellow eyes in a huge buffalo’s head, 
mounted high upon the wall. I was led straight to 
the round table and instructed in the intricacies of the 
game, and also my own part in it, which was to act as 
a kind of umpire, a mere trick to mystify the players, 
as owing to a peculiar construction of the tube, the 
voice was made to sound as if coming from beneath 
the table. 

After this I was shown about the place and in- 
structed in the customs and characteristics of its devo- 
tees. It was all very new to me, but I must confess 
that from the first I found it irresistibly fascinating, 
and was, on the wnole, pleased with my new situation. 

Well, to be brief, I took up my abode with the 
good lady, and there I am staying yet, and every even- 
ing finds me at my post of duty, assisting in the novel 
game of chance which is a great favorite with those 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head. 8i 

who frequent the place, and looking down meanwhile 
on all sorts of scenes and many sorts of people. 

“ To my astonishment I soon found that Alan was 
a frequent visitor to this place of amusement. He is 
not so social as the rest, but he gambles much and 
drinks to excess.’’ 

'' And do you not mingle in this company and com- 
mune with my husband? ” asked Grace, showing deep 
emotion. 

The girl’s drooping eyelids quivered with gather- 
ing tears, as she replied : 

'' No, Mrs. Malray, he does not even know of my 
nearness to, him. Night after night I see him face to 
face and yet I dare not go in to him if I would. 

“ O, Mrs. Malray, how you must hate me,” she 
sobbed, covering her burning face, “ but in spite of it 
all I do love him. He has stolen my heart, only to 
ruin me. Now I am but an outcast in the sight of 
God and all mankind. There is no place for such as 
me. Having sinned once, the rest of my life must 
be blotted by that curse and shame. What is there 
left for me? I woidd throw myself in the dark river 
and end it all, but O, far more than the scoffs and 
contumely of man do I dread the impending judg- 
ments of God. What is there left for such as me but 
to throw myself among other pariahs of my kind, and 
get out of the enjoyment of the senses that which will 
drown all my finer womanly sensibilities? Other wo- 
men, far wiser and better favored than I, have been 
forced to do so. That fate alone allures me. I have 
repented, but the world will not forgive; nor can I 


82 


A Woman’s Protest. 


hope that you will ever deign to forget my sin against 
you. But O, fair lady, as you recognize woman’s 
frailty and the great force of my temptations, curse 
me not. From the lofty heights of your immaculate 
purity and honorable virtue, pity me, pity me ! ” 

Grace, who had suddenly risen and was pacing the 
floor with drawn lips and pallid cheeks, was stopped 
in her walk by the kneeling figure of the sobbing girl 
at her feet. For one moment she gazed at the con- 
vulsive form with a stony stare, and then suddenly all 
her pent-up emotions gave way in a storm of passion- 
ate emphasis. 

''Pity you, — pity?” she almost shrieked, "'Ada 
Burt, I envy you.” 

The prostrate mrl ceased weeping to look up in 
amazement into the speaker’s face. 

" What should I pity you for ? Though your virtue 
has been sullied and my husband expressed his base 
perfidy upon you, you may be thankful that you are 
free. Yours is the whole wide world to roam in 
where you will. No man, though he be the father of 
your child, has called you his and laid unyielding 
claim upon you. You are free even to give yourseif 
to another if you will. Though you may have sinned, 
it is not true that your disgrace need foflow you. Go 
out into the wide world and seek to redeem yourself 
and be happy. Better free than bound as a slave. And 
you are free. Can you understand that? Free as a 
wild-bird. Ah, I wish I were like you. I wish I had 
made no greater mistake than you have done. For 
I Ah, you should pity me, Ada Burt. These 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo’s Head. 83 

walls of my beautiful home are a gilded prison. I am 
enslaved to one who goes out from me free ; who min- 
gles as he pleases with the low and degenerate, and 
returns home to share with me his vile contamination 
and to transmit it to my children, while I have no 
alternative but to submit, because I am his wife. And 
where is the remedy? The laws and customs of this 
Christian country protect him, while these same laws 
and customs prevent me from even protecting my- 
self. I have sold myself into the most abject of 
all slavery, and at what a price. Heavens ! What 
a price ! 

“ Pity you ? she again cried, turning fiercely upon 
the trembling girl, ‘‘nay, I envy you indeed, and 
would gladly exchange my position for that of yours. 
But would you change places with me, Ada Burt, 
would you ? '' 

“ I — I don't know," stammered the astonished Ada, 
“ I never thought of it in that way before." 

Grace gave a shrill laugh like one on the verge of 
madness, and all unexpectedly, as if in response to 
that laugh, there sounded through the upper corridor 
a musical ripple of baby merriment, like the chime of 
silver bells, while a sweet voice called loudly, “ Mama, 
mama." 

At sound of her darling's cry the rigid outlines of 
bitter pain and agony that were depicted on Grace's 
features softened with tender mother-love. 

“ My baby, O, my baby! But for you I would end 
this horror of my existence," she cried, passionately 
weeping, as she fell back, weak and prostrate, upon 


84 A Woman’s Protest. 

the couch from which she had risen. But tears were 
her redemption, and bathed in their sootning balm her 
crushed and wounded spirit was enabled to rise again. 

As soon as she was calmer she turned to the young 
girl who stood near wringing her hands in dis- 
tress. 

'' I cannot doubt the veracity of your story,’' said 
Grace, “ for my own knowledge does but corroborate 
what you have said ; yet I wish for my own sake that 
I might prove all this for myself, if it could be done 
without involving you in any risk, which I would not 
wish to do." 

‘‘ That can easily be accomplished, kind lady, and 
was what 1 had in mind to suggest if you showed in- 
credulity of my story," replied the young woman 
eagerly. 

‘'If you will come to this house where I stay some 
evening, you shall look through the little windows for 
yourself and no one need even know of your presence, 
for I can easily send the old housekeeper away on 
some pretext." 

“ I will come," said Grace with firmness, “ and shall 
it be to-night ? " 

“ O, yes, if you please to." 

“ Very well, then, let it be so. Write your address 
upon this slip of paper and then you may go, for I am 
very weary and wish to be alone." 

The girl did as she was bid, but turned at the door 
at a detaining word from Grace. 

“ Pardon me for overlooking, in my own pain and 
sorrow, the underlying motive that brought you to 


Through the Eyes in the Buffalo's Head. 85 

me to-day. I understand, do 1 not, that you wish to 
be relieved from this trying situation ? 

There was no mistaking the pure and simple kind- 
ness with which these words were spoken, but for 
some reason the girl did not seem ready to answer. 
She blushed and hung her head confusedly, and Grace 
beckoned her to her seat again. 

What you need,'’ she then went on, is to be saved 
from yourself. You are on the wrong road and in 
your own strength can never turn back. So far as it 
is possible I would like to make retribution to you for 
having been thus led astray. If you will permit me 
I will find some place for you where you can be given 
opportunity to redeem your womanhood. Stay, I re- 
call even now just such a home as I would like you 
to have, with a good woman whom I know can fur- 
nish you employment and the noble environments of 
Christian living and wholesome companionship. Will 
you consent to go? " 

The girl bent her head and wept. 

‘‘ My sin against you is too great for me to claim 
your charity and sympathies," she exclaimed at last. 

'' You have been led astray, but others I fear must 
bear the heavier penalty of the sin of it ! " responded 
Grace, tremulously. '' However, I do not ask you to 
decide now, but I feel assured that when you have 
time to think it over you will come back to me." 

Her own sorrows for the moment were lost sight of 
in her yearnings over this fallen sister, but her frail 
form was trembling with weariness and emotions, and 
the young girl observing it, lifted her benefactress' 


86 


A Woman^s Protest. 


hand reverently to her lips, while her falling tears fell 
hot upon the white fingers. Then with a murmur of 
confused thanks she quickly but quietly withdrew 
from the room. 


“ Till Death do Us Part. 


87 


CHAPTER VI. 

TILL DEATH DO US PART. 

The home of the Malrays had suddenly become an 
object of interest and curiosity to all the surrouncing 
neighborhood. From every house that had a view of 
the Malrays’ front door there might have been seen 
watchful eyes, frequently peeping out between cur- 
tains of lace and tapestry, to see who went and who 
came from the darkened house over which the gather- 
ing shadows had deepened into a pall of gloom, so 
thick and heavy, that it seemed it could never be lifted 
again. Even the warm May breezes must have felt 
its influence, for while the freshly clothed trees and 
shrubs, and every loose thing tossed and tumbled in 
the sunshine, the long, black ribbons on the pendant 
of heavy crepe suspended from the door-casing 
scarcely fluttered. 

Between the neighbors who went to and fro among 
themselves there was much surmising and conjecture, 
for the sudden death of Alan Malray was more or less 
of an uncleared mystery. 

In point of fact, even the Malrays’ most intimate 
and sympathetic friends were not much more satis- 
factorily informed. There certainly was much cau- 
tious concealment about this unexpected decease that 


88 


A Woman'^ Protest. 


vSociety would liked to have pried into, but those who 
best knew the dignified and reserved young widow 
did not dream of asking pertinent questions. 

The privileged, therefore, gathered in the darkened 
drawing-rooms that day and talked of Alan Malray, 
and whispered suggestively of many things, each one 
assuming by his own air of mystery that he knew 
more than he cared to reveal. 

A maiden aunt, a model of primness and propriety, 
and also a half-sister of the deceased had recently ar- 
rived and were now mingling among the callers, 
weeping a respectable number of tears and acknowl- 
edging the expressions of sympathy and regret that 
Grace was not present to receive. 

Do tell me all about it,'' said a blustering matron, 
who seemed the personification of the wind outside, 
dropping down upon a sofa beside a woman who, with 
bonnet and cloak removed, looked as if she had come 
to stay. So sudden, you know. I just heard of it 
and came." 

Yes, it was very sudden," replied the other with 
cultured calmness. I suppose you know it was apo- 
plexy," she suggested, tapping the jeweled fingers of 
the other with her fan. 

'' Apoplexy," echoed the first speaker. Why I 
heard he was " 

'' Apoplexy," said the other with decision, giving 
the jeweled hand another spiteful tap. The good lady 
took the hint this time, and sighed deeply. 

Poor Grace," she said after a pause. So hard 
on her, I am sure." 


“ Till Deatli do Us Part.” 


89 

She heaved another sigh from her ample breast, and 
then asked in the most casual tone she could com- 
mand, Was she with him at the time of his death? 

The other gave vent to a suppressed giggle behind 
her fan. 

O, so they say. She was sent for just in time, I 
believe.'' 

The two women looked at each other with arched 
eyebrows. 

Disgraceful ! muttered the breezy matron, tak- 
ing advantage of the silent confidence. 

'' Very," replied the other, “ but what else cpuld 
you expect ? " 

With this pointed thrust she rose hastily from the 
sofa and moved away, probably with the intent to 
avoid further questioning. 

For a long time Grace had stood leaning against 
the mantel in the cold, silent chamber alone with her 
dead ; too profoundly absorbed in her pensive medita- 
tions to note the flight of time, or to consider her ex- 
treme weariness. Save for her black mourning dress 
she appeared much as usual. A trifle paler, perhaps, 
but strangely quiet and reposed. In fact the struggle 
with her was over, the crisis of sufifering was past, 
reaction had come, partially at least, and there was 
now no appearance of weakness or confusion. Her 
brain was clear ; she was quite ready to think, to plan 
and to execute too when there was need for it. 

She was not afraid of that still form under the 
white draperies. She did not fear to think her 
thoughts, or to speak them aloud in its presence had 


go 


A Woman’s Protest. 


she chose. She even went at last and lifted the damp 
cloths and took a long, long look at the bloated, pur- 
ple face of him who had been her husband. And as 
she gazed she recalled with a shudder of horror the 
tragic death-scene it had been her fate to witness, 
while all the terrible things that had preceded it 
rushed vividly into her mind. 

That awful night when she had viewed through the 
eyes in the buffalo’s head the scenes of disgrace and 
debauchery in which her husband was a prominent 
actor, her brain had been set on fire with anguish and 
indignation. Not so much, however, for her hus- 
band's degradation, for whom the ardent love of early 
marriage had long ago been stifled, as for the miserable 
existence he had caused her to lead as his wife, and 
for the awful contamination to which he had sub- 
jected her in her innocence and helplessness, against 
which she had no power, and no right, apparently, to 
resent or prevent. 

Outraged and desperate she had returned home to 
wait for him, and when in the early hours of morn- 
ing he had come stealing in, half-tipsy with liquors, 
she had unsealed all the vials of her wrath and poured 
them out in scathing anathemas upon her astonished 
husband. 

Never, never again," she had tokl him at the last, 

will I discharge for you the wifely duties which 
heretofore I have always held myself bound to do, 
even when the fumes of your liquor-scented breath 
were abhorrent to me, and even your very presence 
disgusting to my soul. Was this all you expected of 


“ Till Death do Us Part.” 


91 


me as your wife when you married me? It must have 
been, for day by day you have attempted to narrow 
my life-expression to satisfy your growing selfishness, 
and have seen, in consequence, my youthful freshness 
dying out of me, but you did not care. You have 
hated to see me mingling in the outside world, and 
have raged if any other man so much as kissed the 
tips of my fingers. But have you been as honorable 
with me as you have demanded I should be to you? 
No, indeed ! You, you, — and thrice-cursed are you 
for it — have not scrupled to mingle intimately with 
whom you pleased, the vile and the base. You have 
broken every pledge and sullied every sacred principle 
of marriage. You have not hesitated to defile me, and 
what was even worse than that, to imbue in our off- 
spring the very essence of vulgarity and wicked- 
ness. 

“How do I know all this to be true? Not being 
utterly devoid of human intelligence I could not fail 
to know it. I know the history of your most degrad- 
ing sins, and more, I know the story of one innocent 
life that you have dragged in the dust of infamy and 
shame, and then left by the wayside, torn and bruised, 
to live or die as she could. I have seen the depths to 
which you have fallen, and know the places of vice 
of which you are a habitue, such as I saw you in to- 
night. You need not start and stare at me like that. 
I repeat,— AS I SAW YOU IN TO-NIGHT.’’ 

“ Who under heaven has made such a mess as 
this? ” cried Alan, pacing the floor in a foam of rage, 
sharpened by his night’s debauch. 


92 


A Woman’s Protest. 


The owner of this bracelet,” cried Grace, dramat- 
ically shaking the tarnished circlet above her head. 

“She, was it? Confound the little ! As I 

live she shall pay dearly for this.” 

Grace’s heart almost stopped beating as she realized 
the rashness of her exposure of the young girl. 
Without considering any fatal results to her, she had 
only meant to startle Alan into a confession of his sins 
by the sight of the bracelet, which he had at one time 
refused to recognize. 

“ Shame on your dastardly threats toward a weak, 
helpless woman,” were the words Grace hurled at him 
as soon as she could recover her breath. “ I have 
merely used her as an instrument by which to learn 
the whole terrible truth of your perfidy and dishonor. 

“ O, you thought you had me subdued, but you 
must know by this time that I am still very much of 
a woman, with something left yet of a woman’s grand 
sense of loyalty and virtue, and all of a woman’s in- 
sight and ingenuity. Yet I was blind enough to give 
myself to you for good or for ill, and the ill has come 
in full measure. I loved you at first with all the ardor 
of my innocent heart, but that love has been crushed 
out by the process you have employed in making 
what you probably consider a dutiful wife of me. At 
any rate, the joy I had hoped for in married life 
has never come, and whatever sweetness there was in 
it has turned to gall. What has this beautiful home 
been to me but a gilded prison ? What has been your 
companionship but that which I would often rather 
have done without? What was your love but vulgar 


Till Death do Us Part. 


93 


passion ? What have you given me in my child, 
which is all there is left to me now, but an object of 
pity because of her unhappy parenthood? I shall no 
longer endure this bondage to the galling yoke of 
married existence with you’! With every faculty of 
my mind, and with all the force of my being, I de- 
nounce you as my husband, and remand the gift of 
myself at your hands.’’ 

'‘Well, what does all this amount to?” exclaimed 
Alan petulantly. 

" However much you may despise me does not 
make you any less my proper consort, and having 
a reasonable degree of the world’s honor yet, my 
rights will be respected. And what will all your puny 
rage amount to? Many another man has a sputtering 
wife at home. That is why they seek comfort else- 
where, — as I have had to do. But come now, Grace, 
what’s the use of always finding fault with me? I 
am a great deal better to you than some men are to 
their wives. You only hurt yourself, as you always 
have done, by resenting what you should take as a 
matter of course,” — he was advancing toward her 
deprecatively. 

" Don’t touch me,” she demanded with imperative 
hauteur, moving backwards toward the door. “ Such 
scenes as I have witnessed to-night fill my soul with 
loathing. You have forfeited every right of marriage 
and every claim upon me as your wife. Henceforth 
we must be as strangers. Leave me at once or I will 
leave you forever, and remember, that from now on, 
no law nor tie, neither entreaty nor force shall hold 


94 


A Woman’s Protest, 


me for one hour by your side as your wife. Alan 
Malray, I am still a human being and I claim the right 
to do with myself what I will. I can no longer be 
subservient to you or any one. I must_, I WILL be 
free.^’ 

So saying, she turned and abruptly left the room. 

The first gray light of dawn was already brighten- 
ing the east when Grace sought her own room and 
threw herself down upon the couch in an exhausted 
condition of mind and body ; and the sun was past 
its zenith ere she found strength to rise again. From 
the servants she learned that her husband, after 
breakfasting as usual, had packed a light valise and 
taken his departure, requesting the butler to inform 
his wife that he had been called away on business and 
might not return for some time. Grace understood 
the message. He had chosen to leave her in posses- 
sion of their home that it might afford proper shelter 
for herself and child. And now he was really gone, 
out of her sight, out of her life, for a time at least. 
She silenced such qualms of conscience as smote her 
by saying to herself over and over again, Let him 
go; I have suffered enough. It will give me a sem- 
blance of freedom, anyway.” 

But Grace was not to know the peace she longed 
for, after all. Grave doubts as to the wisdom of her 
final course of treatment with him began to torment 
her ; and as the days lengthened into weeks with no 
word from her husband and no knowledge of his 
whereabouts, her soul was filled with horror and re- 
morse at the possible fate to which she might have 


Till Death do tJs Part/* 

driven him ; while fearful dreams at night gave a 
sense of corroboration to her worst imaginings, until 
the long anxiety and suspense preyed upon her mind 
almost beyond endurance. 

'' I might have been less hasty,’’ was her bitter 
meditation, and so I would have been, I am sure, 
had he revealed the least sign of regret that my feel- 
ings had been wounded. But no, he sneeringly re- 
minded me that as his wife he had a rigiit to treat me 
as it pleased him to do. 

‘‘ I cannot believe that any such right is written 
anywhere in nature, or even in the law-makers’ stat- 
ute-books, although by many signs and sayings, such 
is constantly implied. I do not believe what he said 
that he has been kinder to me than most men are to 
their wives. Indeed, it is true that the same shame 
and agony that I feel is depicted plainly on many 
women’s faces, but not on all. No, not on all. There 
are men who are true and good, who have no base de- 
sires, and who love and respect their wives even as 
they do themselves. Ah ! why should I not have made 
a happier choice ? But it is too late now. I am young, 
yet my life is blighted, and I shall never know the 
joy of another love. 

‘‘ But O. my husband ! I would I had not sent 
you out to so uncertain a fate ! Why, oh why was I 
not willing enough to bear with you a little longer ! ” 

Why indeed but that her heart, almost breaking, 
could bear its weight of grief no longer. There is 
always an end to human possibilities, and Alan Mal- 
ray had driven his wife to that state of desperation 


A Woman's Protest. 


96 

where patience and forbearance had ceased to be 
laudable virtues. 

At last, after long weary weeks of waiting and 
suspense, fearing she knew not what, relief came to 
her in a peculiar manner. In the early hours of a new 
day, after vain attempts to gain much-needed repose, 
she was called up to receive a message. On a slip of 
paper torn hastily from a copy-book, which was 
handed her, were scribbled these words : 

The cabman who brings this note to you will 
convey you to your husband who Is dving. Trust 
him.’’ 

Grace made a hurried toilet and fearlessly entered 
the cab alone, and' was driven rapidly through unac- 
customed streets for several miles. When at last per- 
mitted to alight she found herself before the selfsame 
house where she had witnessed such indescribable 
scenes on that never-to-be-forgotten night. She now 
entered the more elegant apartment, alone and unan- 
nounced. Calm, self-possessed and with much of that 
superior dignity which had characterized her in better 
days, she inspired respect — even a degree of awe in all 
who beheld her. 

On a soft couch, propped up by silken pillows, sur- 
rounded by grave-faced men and frightened women, 
lay her husband, made almost unrecognizable by his 
bloated, purple face and lolling tongue. His gleaming 
shirt-front, torn open to admit of freer breathing, was 
streaked with blood. A youthful physician occupied 
a place near his head, who bowed to Grace as she 
came and knelt by her husband’s side. 


Till Death do Us Part." 97 

“ It is apoplexy, Madam,’' the physician said 
quietly, his fingers on the sick man’s pulse. ‘‘ He will 
not last much longer. The struggle is about over. — 
You are just in time.” 

Even as he was speaking an awful convulsion shook 
the agonized form and a moment later Alan Ma.ray 
fell back into the embrace of the woman he had called 
his own, who now in her hour of grief and agony 
folded the still quivering form close to her bosom and 
kissed the distorted lips, calling his name. But pres- 
ently as she realized that all was indeed over, she laid 
the head down among its pihows with a great sob, 
pushed back the matted hair from the forehead, wet 
now with the dews of death, pressed her lips long and 
lingeringly upon the brow that did not frown at this 
caress, and finally allowed herself to be led weeping 
away. The vital flame of love, never wholly dead, 
had been fanned for the time being into renewed 
warmth and vigor, and the tears that bathed her 
cheeks like rain seemed to wash all bitterness from 
her heart. 

While waiting for a suitable conveyance to bear the 
body to its forsaken home, the matron of the place 
took Grace aside and told her in a simple, straight- 
forward manner all there was to tell of the brief 
tragedy. In the meantime every couple slipped 
quietly away, leaving Grace and the old lady alone 
with the dead. 

It appeared from what Grace could learn that 
nearly the whole interim of Alan’s absence from home 
and been spent in this resort,^ in continued, unre- 
7 


98 A Woman’s Protest. 

strained debauch ; sleeping heavily through most of 
the day, and spending his nights in wild carousal. 

The bufifalo’s eyes had been closed up, the matron 
could not say why, and poor Ada Burt, already on the 
verge of ruin, had gone in there the following night 
and given herself up to folly. 

The girl was madly in love with that man,^’ the 
matron said, pointing to the covered form on the 
couch, '' and she would never have been seen in this 
place but for him. I knew her pitiful story, and I 
could not blame her, poor child, though I loved her as 
my own. She hung about him continually after that. 
Brought him food during the days when he was unfit 
to go out, and waited upon him like a dog upon his 
master. He appeared to like it and always treated 
her well enough, though a little harshly at times. Still, 
nobody suspected but that he entertained the friendli- 
est feeling for the poor child, and perhaps he did not. 
But to-night, whether maddened by drink, or whether 
he cherished some secret grudge against her, or what- 
ever the impulse no one could guess, but once when 
she had brought him a tray with wine and cakes to the 
table yonder before the long pier-glass where he was 
sitting, and had turned to go, he suddenly tried to 
stab her in the back with a small dagger that I had 
seen him sporting early this evening. But she saw 
his movement in the mirror and quick as a flash she 
wheeled, dropping the tray, and before the blow 
struck her she deftly turned his hand upon himself 
so that the point of the blade tore his own flesh, and 
the blood spurted out. Strangely enough, at the same 


Till Death do Us Part." 


99 


moment this fit of apoplexy convulsed him, brought 
on, the doctor says, by his anger and excitement, and 
he fell at the young girl’s feet with foaming lips. We 
all thought he had been stabbed, and so did poor Ada 
who ran screaming from the room, believing, of 
course, that she had killed him, though if she had, no 
one would have thought of blaming her, for she did it 
in self-defense. Where the poor child has gone I 
cannot imagine, but I only hope she has done no vio- 
lence to herself.'’ 

“ But what will be the outcome of this ?” asked 
Grace. ‘‘ Surely we cannot prevent the awful dis- 
grace of its publicity.” 

The old lady chuckled under her breath. 

Bless your innocence. If you don't tell it, nobody 
will. That’s all fixed up by this time. I’ll venture. 
They're not common folks what comes here. They’re 
rich, every one of them, and belong to good society. 
They won't let nothing leak out if money will prevent 
it, and it will, for they have got lots of it. Some of 
them were a little afraid of you, but I guess you'll 
keep as mum as any of them.” 

This was the scene that Grace vividly reviewed as 
she stood gazing intently upon the distorted features 
of her dead. But presently she replaced the wet wrap- 
pings and dropped the sheet, and trembling with emo- 
tion went over to the window. 

‘‘ Did I kill him ? ” she asked herself in a horrified 
whisper. But her heart responded, “ No, it was but 
the inevitable self-destruction of evil, in which you 


Lof C. 


100 A Woman’s Protest. 

had no vital part, but to save yourself from a similar 
fate/’ 

“ Well, it is all over, anyhow,” she said to herself, 
half-aloud. '' This chapter in my life is closed, and 
furthermore, I am determined that all memory, all its 
hideous influence shall be buried in that grave that 
shall hide yonder dead body from my sight forever. I 
will not carry the misery of it any longer. My married 
existence with him has all been a great mistake 
somehow. Perhaps we both did as well as we could 
with our natures. But it might have been different, 
just the same, if only popular opinion and education 
were different. He married me with well-formed, 
preconceived notions and expectations of what I 
should be to him as a wife. I gave myself up to him 
in innocent love, totally ignorant of what connubial 
union with such a man as he really meant. 

How narrow the sphere that I as a wife have been 
made to occupy ! How meager my opportunities for 
self-improvement ! How limited my privileges, so- 
cially and intellectually ! But was my husband alone 
to blame ? Has not the world at large treated me after 
much the same fashion, since I took upon myself the 
marriage-yoke? It too has limited my sphere. It 
too has expected me to peacefully and resignedly sub- 
mit myself to my husband in all things, and to give 
myself into his keeping, body and soul, whether I 
willed or no. 

‘‘ If I appeared at a public banquet, party or thea- 
ter without my husband or escorted by any other man 
than he, all society opened its eyes and whispered 


Till Death do Us Part. 


lOI 


absurd conjectures. I have thought that his death has 
made me free at last, but has it? What does the 
world accede to widows that it does not to wives? 
O, shall I never be free to live and move according to 
my own inclinations, and what I know to be to my best 
interest? Must I now don the black garb of mourn- 
ing for a husband for whom I cannot mourn ? 

It is evident that if I am ever to know any hap- 
piness again I must make some kind of a revolution, 
and begin a new life, somewhere, somehow. Not 
here, nor as I am. A new life ! a new life ! O, if only 
I could be born over again, with my present under- 
standing of the status of human development to begin 
on, what a difiference it would make in my conduct 
through life ! What a blessing it would be to be born 
able to start right. 

‘‘ O, if I only could be born over ! She stopped in 
her meditation and stood with glittering eyes and 
clenched fists, her breath coming short and fast. Did 
she realize it? The revolution of thought that was 
taking place at that moment in her mind was, in all 
reality, a new birth, and slowly before her, like some 
grand panorama, unfolded a new future of brighter 
possibilities and the realization of her heart’s dream 
of freedom. In the wild current of her imaginings 
she was swept out of the old life into a new era of 
existence, and her soul expanded within the border- 
less areas of the future. 

Why, I can be born over,’’ she cried aloud at last, 
and can try the sweet joys of a new life of freedom. 
If I will, I can be ” Again she paused abruptly. 


102 


A Woman’s Protest. 


The sound of her own voice startled her. She glanced 
apprehensively over her shoulder at the long, still 
form under the white sheet that now gleamed dimly in 
the gathering shadows of evening, and for the first 
time she trembled at Death’s presence. 

How still the hoirse had grown ! Oppressively so, 
she thought. Not a sound could she hear, save the 
throb of her own panting heart which was distinctly 
audible in the grim silence of that chamber. 

She felt choked and tried to clear her throat, but 
could not. She attempted to move from the spot, but, 
to her horror, her feet seemed riveted to the floor. 
In this semi-trance her thoughts were carried back to 
the day of her wedding. Again she timidly spoke her 
altar-vows ; again she kissed her weeping mother 
good-by; again amid the rush and roar of the train 
she heard her husband’s ardent appeal, '' Say it again 
for me. Dear, please do; — ‘ Till Death do us part ’? ” 

On through the weeks and months of early wedded 
life her memory traveled ; each scene, each emotion, 
each regret, each surprise was lived through again 
with ail its original joy or pain. At last came the 
night of that memorable ball when her husband be- 
came so angrily jealous of her. She recalled the home- 
ride in the darkness of the rolling cab. She revived 
again the bitter quarrel, their first quarrel, and sud- 
denly she felt once more the sharp pain in her arm 
as if those hard, cruel fingers were grasping it now ; 
while the same voice, hissing in her ear, pierced her 
heart like a sharp dagger. 

“ You are mine — mine — MINE.’' 


Till Death do Us Part.’’ 


103 


No, no ! ’’ Grace suddenly shrieked aloud, I am 
yours no longer. Death has severed every bond. I 
belong to myself now, and I am FREE.” 

With that fearful cry her powers of motion were 
restored to her and without looking again at the white 
object in the corner, she turned swiftly, darted across 
the room and let herself out, shutting the door 
quickly behind her. 

In the dimly lighted hallway a tall masculine form 
rose before her out of the shadow of the alcove that 
startled her, at which the servant bowed low and said : 

I beg my mistress’ pardon. I did not mean to 
frighten her, but I hav^e waited nearly two hours in the 
hallway here for my mistress to make her appearance. 
The reason is that there is a young person in the 
kitchen who has been giving us some trouble, for she 
refuses to go away until she has had an interview with 
you, but she refuses also to disclose either her name 
or the nature of her errand.” 

Grace, quickly divining who it was, ordered that 
her visitor be sent to her private apartment, to which 
she retired at once to receive her. 

A few moments later the door was opened timidly, 
and a veiled, drooping form slipped just within and 
stood shrinkingly until Grace, in a reassuring voice, 
bade the youthful figure draw near. 

She came then and sank at the feet of the woman 
she had wronged, and Grace, bending tenderly, lifted 
the veil that covered her face. 

So changed ! The youthful bloom was gone from 
the pitifully wasted cheeks; the sunken eyes were 


104 


A Woman’s Protest. 


filled with an expression of horror and faded too with 
much weeping. Grace could hardly believe that this 
was the same young woman, beautiful with the heaHh 
and exuberance of youth, who had called upon her a 
few short months ago. Her eyes overflowed with 
tears at the sad alteration, and the girl, seeing this, 
found voice to whisper hoarsely : 

I killed your husband.” 

My poor child,” said Grace in a voice vibrating 
with compassion, do not allow yourself to suffer 
longer from that delusion.” 

The only answer that came was the thrilling whis- 
per, I killed him. I killed Alan Malray,” and Grace 
realized that Ada Burt was going mad. 

Very tenderly then, she drew the girl to a seat on 
the couch beside her and in a few, well-chosen words, 
revealed the truth concerning her husband's death. 
But her listener only muttered in a hopeless way, and 
did not take it in. So Grace repeated the convincing 
facts again and yet again ere she was rewarded by a 
flicker of joyful light across the girl's haggard face. 

I killed him, I say. I did not kill him, you say. 
O, that is too good to be true.” 

Then burying her face in her hands she sobbed 
hysterically : '' O, thank God ! Thank God ! I did not 
mean to kill him and I did not. Dear Mrs. Malray, 
I am a wicked girl, but I did not mean to do that ter- 
rible deed. Ah, I have suffered enough for my sins 
without that.” 

When she was calmer, Grace told her how expe- 
dient it was that she should go away at once, and the 


Till Death do Us Part. 


105 


poor girl was very willing to be disposed of in any 
way her kind benefactress saw fit. Hasty preparations 
were, therefore, made, telegrams sent and received, and 
that same evening Ada Burt, clothed and comforted, 
and weeping from inexpressible gratitude, went out 
from that home over which the pall of death lay 
heavily, into a new world of possibilities ; and Grace 
Malray, with a sigh of relief, turned to the task of 
preparing herself to enter also into a new world of 
possibilities, though a very different world indeed 
from that into which she had sent the friendless or- 
phan who had been so closely associated with the 
closing scenes of her married life. 


END OF PART I. 


PART 11. 


CHAPTER L 

■ A NEW-COMER. 

Along a shining white road, one warm Summer 
morning, a traveler on horseback leisurely wended his 
way. A few miles behind him he had left the beauti- 
ful city of Melbourne, and all the way on either side 
thus far, beyond the luxurious growth of trees and 
shrubbery that skirted the road, stretched the verdant 
pastures and ripening grain-fields of prosperous Aus- 
tralian farmland. 

The face under the soft-brimmed hat, though 
bearded, was youthful and handsome, and by the ex- 
pression of the countenance his contemplations that 
morning must have been agreeably absorbing, for his 
horse jogged on under a loose rein and finally turned 
in of its own accord at an open gate and up the broad 
driveway that led to a large, substantial-looking farm- 
house. 

Almost at the first click of horse’s hoofs upon the 
smooth, hard road a fair young woman, closely re- 
sembling the rider in features, appeared upon the 
veranda, 

io6 


A New-Comer. 


107 


“ You have returned early,” she said, in a clear 
voice as the young man drew rein before the house, 

I hope you are in no hurry for luncheon, for it yet 
lacks an hour of noon.’’ 

With no other reply than a smile, the rider alighted 
from his horse and throwing the reins to a servant 
who stood near, mounted the steps and drew his sister 
into the house, saying as he did so : 

“ Call Mabel and come up to mother’s room. I 
have something of interest to tell you all.” 

Mabel, a younger sister of thirteen, was practising 
scales on the piano in the front room, but on hearing 
her brother's voice she came out, flushed with the 
exercise. 

‘'Why, David, you here?” she cried in some sur- 
prise, but David, who was already at the top of the 
stairs, merely called back by way of an answer, 
“ Come on. Sis,” as he entered his mother’s room. 

A sweet-faced, silver-haired matron lay reclining 
on a couch, while a wheel-chair near by bespoke the 
life of an invalid. 

“ Well, Mother, I’ve got an ofifer to sell the other 
farm,” said the young man, as the girls entered 
closely behind him. 

“ Have you, my son? ” said the invalid with a little 
sigh. Then turning to her eldest daughter she 
observed regretfully, “ It’s too bad, Nell, when 
your father bequeathed that property to you in his 
will.” 

‘‘ Never mind that. Mother,” the girl replied cheer- 
fully, I’ll never need a dowry, I’m sure, and it 


io8 


A Woman’s Protest. 


will be so nice to have some neighbors. Who are 
they, David ? Tell us all about them.’' 

“ It isn’t a family at ail, I believe, but only a single 
gentleman with a retinue of native servants. He is 
young and good-looking, and I fancy is searching 
about for a home preparatory to finding some nice 
young woman to marry him,” said David with a 
roguish glance at his sister. 

‘‘ How very interesting,” cried the younger girl, 
prancing gaily about the room. Why, Td marry 
him, myself,” she declared with a joyous laugh. 

“ Daughter, don’t be flippant,” was the gentle moth- 
er’s reproof. “ But really, David, this is quite unus- 
ual. You do not suppose, do you, that there is any- 
thing suspicious in his expressing a desire to come 
away out here to live alone ? ” 

“ N-o-o, I guess not. He’s a queer sort of a chap 
though. Wouldn’t talk anything except business. 
Sharp at a bargain, too, and clear-headed. He wants 
the place badly enough. I told him I would come 
home and talk with you about it and meet him over at 
the farm this afternoon.” 

As David Burford mounted his horse aeain after 
luncheon he said to his sister, who stood on the ve- 
randa once more to see him ride away, I thought, 
Nell, if I made the deal with that fellow that I would 
bring him home to dinner with me, if you did not ob- 
ject. I confess I’ve taken a great liking to him, and 
besides my curiosity is aroused. I fancy a good din- 
ner and the smiles of a lovely woman like yourself 
may help to thaw him out a little/’ 


A New-Comer. 


109 


It will be a nice compliment, I am sure, if he buys 
the place. Yes, bring him home with you, by all 
means,’' said his sister witn hospitable fervor. 

But at six o’clock David returned alone. 

“ What, didn’t you make the sale?” asked the sis- 
ters in surprise, meet’ng him in the hall. 

“ O yes, I made the sale easy enough,’’ replied their 
brother, displaying a roll of bills, “ and the new owner 
is to move in as soon as the house is repaired to his 
satisfaction. But my invitation to dine with us was 
rather abruptly refused, and somehow I couldn't urge 
him.” 

Now, I call that a direct snub,” crii^d Mabel, im- 
petuously, I suppose he is some high-born aristocrat 
who considers himself too good to mix with ordinary 
people.” 

" High -born he certainly is, and aristocratic, too, 
though perhaps not in the way you infer,” replied her 
brother, '' for in manner, in dress and in general con- 
duct he appears to be almost above criticism, save 
for a certain coolness and reserve that rather overtops 
a fellow like me. But don’t be disappointed, Sissy, 
we’ll see enough of him, I daresay. And we will take 
a drive over that way to-morrow and I promise you a 
glimpse of him at any rate. He will probably be there 
overseeing a bevy of workmen.” 

'' Is he going to make many changes in the old 
homestead ? ” asked the elder sister rather sadlv, for 
the house just sold was the birthplace of all three of 
them, and dear to childish memories. 

No, I think not,” was the reply.' ‘'The house is 


no 


A Woman’s Protest. 


to be thoroughly renovated, papered and painted 
anew, which it sadiy needs. He also intends to throw 
out a small conservatory from the bay-window on the 
south side. He wid build a kennel for some fine dogs 
he has, also some new sheds for sheep. This much 
I learned by dint of some curious questioning.'’ 

True to his word David Burford took his sisters for 
a drive next day over past the farm, where already 
the sound of unloading lumber, the burr of a saw and 
the sharp clink of hammers were signs of returning 
life in and around the old house that had stood empty 
and silent for so long. 

David stopped the carriage before the farm-gate, 
but not seeing the new proprietor anywhere about, he 
alighted and went to the rear of the house from 
whence after some time he returned with the object of 
his search. 

Though dressed throughout in working-man’s 
clothing, well-sprinkled with sawdust, the stranger 
still revealed that innate refinement and high-born 
culture of which David had testified. On being pre- 
sented to the young ladies he lifted his wide-brimmed 
straw hat, revealing a rather youthful face, singularly 
handsome, with a clear skin browned by exposure, 
save for his high, white forehead over which 
tumbled a profusion of loose brown ringlets of fine 
hair. 

Though he appeared to have little he cared to say, 
he was not awkward nor ill at ease, but listened to the 
young women’s express'ons of welcome and answered 
their interested queries in few, well-chosen words and 


A New-Comer. lit 

with a grave, smileless countenance very unusual with 
one of his years. 

At last, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he said to 
the brother: 

''Are the young ladies fond of pets? I have a 
beautiful spaniel pup I would like to show them if it 
would interest them.’’ 

" O, yes, please do let us see it,” spoke the impul- 
sive Mabel, *’ I would dearly love to hold it for myself. 
I adore little puppies.” 

The young man withdrew into the house, returning 
a moment later with a soft, brown, silky ball that 
seemed all eyes and ears and laid the bundle in Ma- 
bel’s lap, saying as he did so : 

" This is the last of a large litter. The rest I have 
already disposed of in Melbourne, but I intend rais- 
ing this one for myself.” 

After this he did not speak much, but watched al- 
most wistfully the lavish afifection that Mabel bestowed 
on the pup. He received their extended hospitality 
with a quiet bow of acknowledgment, although with- 
out returning the compliment. Yet they did not feel 
rebuffed nor offended. 

For the rest of the ride Mabel was liberal in her 
enthusiastic admiration of the young man. There 
was enough about the stranger that was novel and 
mysterious to appeal to her romantic nature and she 
could think or talk of nothing else. But Nell and 
David were silent, and hardly heard what their sister 
was saying, so busy were they with their own 
thoughts. 




A Woman’s Protest. 


In a few weeks’ time their former homestead pre- 
sented a very different aspect to the Burfords, who 
noted every improvement with lively interest, although 
they saw little and learned less of the new owner, who 
had now taken up his permanent abode there. 

The house itself looked like new in its shining coat of 
fresh paint, enhanced also by innumerable little touches 
of modern improvement in architecture that showed 
taste and ingenuity. The beautiful new conservatory 
had been filled with choice flowers of rare value and 
exquisite loveliness. Of an evening could be heard 
the low baying of hounds from the dog-kennels ; in the 
stables several spirited horses were comfortably stalled, 
while herds of fine sheep and cattle grazed in the fer- 
tile farm meadows. 

In and around the house native servants flitted, ap- 
pearing to enjoy life as well as if they owned every- 
thing about them, while in the warm evenings they 
laughed, danced and sang on the green-sward in un- 
restrained enjoyment. 

The master of all this industry appeared content 
with his secluded life, roaming over his farm on horse- 
back, feeding and caring for his flocks and otherwise 
engaged in the less laborious portions of farm-labor, 
and in directing and overseeing the work of his hired 
servants. 

Wherever he moved among his servants, his horses 
and dogs, and even his sheep and cattle, they all 
seemed to recognize him as a kind master and loved 
to please him, treating him always with that venera- 
tion and respect which his aloofness and quiet dignity 


A New-Comer. 


113 

inspired. His low word of command was promptly 
obeyed, whether directed to an unskilled servant, to a 
fretful horse cr a too frisky dog. 

David Burford couM not restrain from breaking 
in occasionally upon the young recluse, and while his 
visits receive 1 no special encouragement, they were 
not repressed, and as time went on the stranger grew 
to enjoy David’s company and became less reserved 
and self-contained. 

David always had something of interest to relate at 
home after these visits, for aS' yet no communications 
either of speech or conduct had passed between the 
two which David felt he could not freely divulge to his 
mother and sisters, and yet betray no confidence. His 
observations to them about these visits were usually 
confined to delineations of the young man’s peculiar- 
ities, his irresistible charm of manner, and also of the 
beauty and refinement of the home he was creating 
for himself, which though not luxurious was elegant 
and artistic. 

One day while calling on his new friend, and en- 
gaged in conversation of general impersonalities, such 
as both men thus far felt free to discuss, David made 
some casual reference to his mother’s invalid condi- 
tion, whereupon the other looked up with a sudden 
show of interest which quite transformed his usually 
placid features. 

You have never told me that about your mother,” 
he said in a tone of reproach. David was quick to 
note the sentiment he had awakened and took the ad- 
8 


ii4 


A Woman's Protest. 


vantage it offered by replying in much the sarhe tone 
of quiet rebuke, 

Indeed, I never thought you cared to know.” 

This unexpected retort brought the color to the 
young man’s face and he bit his lips as if annoyed. 
At this, David’s quick sympathy led him to turn the 
conversation back once more to neutral grounds and 
his mother was not referred to again. 

As his guest rose to depart, however, his young 
host said cheerfully, Come into the conservatory a 
few moments. I want to exercise your botanical ski.l 
in classifying a new flower that just opened for me 
this morning.” 

While David bent eagerly over the rare exotic he 
had been called to examine, his friend moved about 
among the plants, apparently absorbed in them, but 
when next he approached his guest it was with hands 
full of the choicest flowers of his collection. 

“ I beg pardon,” he said with some show of con- 
fusion, it seems so selfish to enjoy these all alone, 
and if your mother is confined with illness, — Well, 
would you mind taking these to her ? ” 

David Burford was much touched, and his eyes 
filled with tears, while a lump’ in his throat choked 
back the words of gratitude he would like to have 
said. It was not so wonderful that a neighbor should 
send flowers to his sick mother, but something in the 
spirit of the man, something hidden and indescribable 
made David feel that the gift meant more than the 
simple act expressed. In that moment he felt welling 
up in his soul such an ardent affection for this man 


A New-Comer. ii^ 

as he had never experienced toward any friend before, 
and he marveled at its fervor. 

Not long after this David dropped in on his friend 
one day and found him trying a handsome new piano, 
his strong white fingers running lightly along the 
keys as if at one time they had been much at home 
there. 

I say, Wheatley,'' exclaimed David, after duly ad- 
miring the new instrument, you have never yet fa- 
vored my mother and sisters with a single visit. You 
don't like me to say a word, I know, but I can't help 
it, old fellow, the fact is I have learned to like you so 
well that I can hardly endure to see you shut up here 
continuady like a Hindoo monk. It isn't good for 
you, whatever your reason for doing it ; and besides it 
wouldn’t hurt you to be a little neighborly with such 
simple, kindly folk as we are." 

I have told you before," young Wheatley replied 
sententiously, that my habits of life here suit me 
well enough." 

For a moment he studied the gloomy face of his 
visitor, and then added more kind-y, I don't intend 
living this way always, however. I don't mind telling 
you that. You see I never have had all the opportunity 
I desired to indulge my intense devotion to art, music 
and science. I am very happy, therefore, with my 
books and music, my dogs, horses and flowers. By 
the way, Mr. Burford, since your last visit I have re- 
ceived a small painting from Paris that is a real gem, 
and will quite suit your tastes, I am sure. Come into 
the library with me and examine it," and the young 


ii6 A Woman’s Protest. 

man with some eaj^erness rose from the piano-chair 
and started across the room. 

O, bother ! I can't wait to see the picture. I want 
to have a talk with you. Sit down, won't you?" 

A shadow of disappointment mingled with surprise 
flitted across Leon Wheatley’s face, which drove the 
light of enthusiasm from it entirely, and over him 
settled that apathetic reserve so habitual with him, as 
he listlessly dropped into an armchair and pushed his 
fingers through his luxurious curls. 

'' Do you know that to-morrow is Christmas-day ? " 
asked David in impressive tones. 

Christmas ? " repeated the other, dreamily. “ Ah, 
yes, I remember now. The servants are preparing for 
a gala-day." 

'' And you, Leon Wheatley ? " 

'' What matter about me ? " the other returned with 
bitterness. 

Well, for myself, I think I would leave you alone 
as you deserve, in your silence and gloom, but Mother 
is so anxious to make your acquaintance, and er, — 
well, she and the girls have planned to make you their 
only guest, hoping that for once you will consent to 
join our little family circle and prove yourself a lit- 
tle sociable." 

The young man was not unmoved. He suddenly 
arose and walked over to the window, and stood si- 
lently looking out into the garden below him. After 
some time, as if speaking to himself, and without turn- 
ing toward his friend, he said quietly : 

At all events, I cannot come/’ 


A New-Comer. 


I17 

David’s cheeks burned with indignation. His im- 
pulse was to stalk out of the room without another 
word, but he resisted the inclination and shaded his 
face with his hand to hide his disappointment and 
chagrin. 

At last the other turned away from the window 
with a suspicious moisture about his eyes, but David 
did not look up. 

It’s awfully good of you, Burford, and I appreci- 
ate your kind intentions, I do indeed. I hope you be- 
lieve that.” 

I don’t, though,” the other replied angrily. '' We 
don’t want to pry into your private affairs, nor to 
burden you with ours ; but you must be devoid of all 
charity for your kind, and certainly are lacking in 
proper respect for women, to show yourself so un- 
friendly.” 

“ You accuse me unjustly. Sir. I do not mistrust 
you of anything but the sincerest cordiality, and I 
have the profoundest respect for women — all women. 
Heavens ! What respect ! ” he exclaimed with sudden 
vehemence. 

“ Well, you’re a painful puzzle, that’s sure. I can- 
not help wishing that I understood you better. And 
so I must carry home your refusal to join us to- 
morrow ? ” 

There was a moment’s silence. The young man 
stood biting his lips as if struggling for a de- 
cision. At last with something like a smile he 
said abruptly : 

Thanks, I believe I’ll come.” 


ii8 A Woman’s Protest. 

The sudden acceptance was more of a surprise than 
the refusal, but David jumped up delightedly. 

''Say, do you mean that, my good fellow? Tm 
heartily obliged to you. Let’s shake.” 

He grasped his friend’s extended finger-tips cor- 
dially, but dropped them in wonder and perplexity. 
Leon Wheatley’s hand was cold as ice. 


David Makes a Discovery. 


119 


CHAPTER II. 

DAVID MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

The new proprietor of the old Burford homestead 
proved to be a most successful farmer. Everything 
he cultivated on his land, or in his stock-pens, or stable 
was of the most superior kind, and all that he oflfered 
for sale brought enviable prices. He was progressive, 
too, in his methods of labor and new improvements 
were being constantly added, so that in time there 
came to be in all that country-side no better farm-land 
and no more beautiful rural home than his. A large 
number of hired servants, directed by a competent 
overseer, were kept constantly employed on the place, 
while Wheatley himself was everywhere and looked 
after everything in a v^ay that could not help but bring 
prosperity. 

In the house order and precision were observed with 
the smoothness of well-oiled machinery. The kindly- 
disciplined servants were always cheerful and obe- 
dient. The housekeeper, an old black negress, hu- 
mored and petted her young master as if she had cared 
for him since his childhood, and kept everything with- 
in her sphere in excellent order, often anticipating his 
wishes and delighting in his frequent expressions of 
appreciation and praise. 


120 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Leon Wheatley, himself, appeared satisfied and con- 
tented with the unusual career he was leading. Al- 
though he now went frequently to Melbourne to look 
after his interests, and often to more distant towns, 
sometimes remaining from home for a period of sev- 
eral days, he still made few friendships and appar- 
ently courted none. Visitors to his beautiful home 
were comparatively rare, and such visits of short dura- 
tion. 

His friendship with the Burfords, while not amount- 
ing to intimacy, had broadened into something like 
neighborliness in a certain freedom which the young 
people enjoyed in coming to his home, although 
he could rarely be induced to visit theirs. His many 
delicate attentions to their invalid mother were most 
gratefully received by them all, and they longed to re- 
turn in some way his kindly favors, but this was hard 
to do, as he would rarely listen even to expressions of 
gratitude from any of them. He often invited David 
and his sisters to dine with him, while horseback rides 
and similar exhilarating exercises were frequently en- 
joyed by them in his society. 

The young man appeared to especially enjoy 
Mabel's companionship. Her childish impetuosity 
and artless freedom of speech interested and amused 
him, and she alone could bring a laugh to his lips, to 
which she always referred at home as a mark of envi- 
able triumph. With the sober and soulful Nell, Leon 
Wheatley was always shy and reserved, yet tenderly 
courteous and considerate of her pleasure whenever 
she was his guest. 


David Makes a Discovery. 121 

The influence of his society upon Neil was an enig- 
ma to herself. She did not for one moment imagine 
herself in love with him ; nevertheless, for some rea- 
son, the quiet, peaceful home-life which, up until the 
time of his coming into the neighborhood, had been 
quite enough to fill up the measure of her happiness, 
had suddenly grown inadequate and unsatisfying. 
She felt vaguely that her ardent devotion to her 
mother and her warm affection for her sister and 
brother were not enough. Her soul hungered for 
something deeper, something more. 

The time came, however, when she was forced to 
realize the truth her heart would no longer conceal, 
namely, that she was deeply in love with a man who 
in no expression or attention toward her had encour- 
aged that love, and who had evidently thus far felt no 
inclination to seek in her more than ordinary sociabil- 
ity. From the time she was fully awake to this morti- 
fying conviction she went no more to Leon's beautiful 
home, and not until she ceased such visits did she 
realize what the privilege had meant to one of her 
meager advantages. 

Her proud spirit would not let her share this sor- 
row, even with her mother, but in secret she suffered 
intensely, until the mental strain and anguish made 
serious inroads upon her previously exuberant health 
and vivacitv. 

David Burford, meanwhile, did not fail to appreci- 
ate the fact that he was quite a privileged character 
in young Wheatley's home and heart ; and that the in- 
estimable privilege might not some time be with- 


122 


A Woman’s Protest. 


drawn, he strove to make himself essential to the 
young man s interests in every possible manner by as- 
sisting h'm in all kinds of work, in entering enthu- 
siastically into all his plans, even suggesting and advis- 
ing wherever he could draw upon his larger experi- 
ence effectively. 

David’s visits were now both frequent and informal, 
and while his friend often wore most inexplicable 
moods of indifference, reserve, and even co.dness, yet 
David secretly exulted in the abiding consciousness 
that, in spite of his contrary moods, the young man 
really cared a great deal for him and would have been 
loath to forego almost the only human companion- 
ship that he allowed himself. 

Although still retaining the utmost reserve concern- 
ing himself or his past, Leon Wheatley was for the 
most part an agreeable companion. Upon his library 
table could always be found a choice selection of the 
latest books of literary merit both from England and 
America, and in the perusal and discussion of these, 
the two men found much mutual enjoyment and satis- 
faction. David’s hungry mind grasped eagerly at the 
advantages of Leon’s scholarship and superior educa- 
tion, while Leon gave liberally of his knowledge, as 
well as the rare logic of his original mind. 

One day David picked up from this table a hand- 
some new volume, with leaves yet uncut, and read the 
rather unique title, printed in bold letters on the 
cover, '' Where is the Remedy? ” 

Hello ! ” exclaimed David in surprise, '' I say. 


David Makes a Discovery. 123 

Wheatley, do you have a taste for this sort of 
literature? '' 

The other smiled sardonically. 

The book only came yesterday,'’ he replied, “ but 
I must confess that what I have read of the author’s 
theories just about meets my views." 

‘'So glad to hear it, old fellow! Tve just been 
yearning to read this book. Have studied every re- 
view of it I met with in current literature ; did it right 
here among your periodicals. Was planning how I 
could get an opportunity to secure the book and read 
it. Couldn’t tal'c it home, I suppose, if I owned a 
copy. The girls would get hold of it, you know. But 
how it reveals the sad state of our almost universal 
marriage customs, especially in those countries we are 
taught to call civilized. Why ! over in America, so- 
ciety is in a ferment over this book, and it’s having a 
lively sale. Is in its fifth edition already, so they 
say. Wonder who the author is? Let’s see, — Greg- 
ory Mills. O, well, that’s probably fictitious. And 
they say that in England they are discussing the book, 
pro and con, in pulpit and press. But I suppose you 
know all about this.’’ 

“ Yes, I know,’’ Leon replied quietly, “ but why 
would you object to having your sisters read a book 
that you acknowledge yourself so anxious to peruse? 
If you considered it immoral or impure, you would 
not read it yourself, would you?’’ 

“ O no, certainly not ; but, — er — well, it’s rather un- 
common you know to encourage young ladies to think 
about these things. While I like to read people’s 


124 


A Woman’s Protest. 


opinions myself, I don’t know as I would want women 
that I love to be stirred up by such radical ideas as 
this book is accountable for. So far as I know mar- 
riage-customs and privileges are not in much need of 
a remedy. Still I never wanted to enter wedlock my- 
self. It’s too expensive, because women are mostly 
too feeble. They look bright and healthy when men 
marry them, but I find in nearly all cases their bloom 
and vivacity soon fades ; they lose their bewitching 
charms and coquetry, many of them become semi-in- 
valids with all the care, responsibility and expense 
that such conditions incur. However that kind of a 
life appears suited to most women. At least they 
don’t seem to mind it.” 

'' D'on’t you thiiT they do?” 

Something in the question, or in the tone in which 
it was put, startled David Burford. It sounded to 
him as if some mysterious voice had suddenly spoken 
in thrilling rebuke from out the book-lined walls. 
Had the query really come from the quiet lips of this 
calm, grave man, sitting there before him? 

'' I — I — said they did not seem to,” stammered Da- 
vid. Perhaps it is more a matter of submission to 
whatever marriage brings them than of actual satis- 
faction. Most young women are ignorant, I aver, of 
what married life really involves, and so they consent 
to its vows unwittingly. Besides, the union of the 
sexes in lawful- bonds is natural and right, and more 
to be desired than any other existence. I tell you, 
Wheatley, old bachelors, like you and me, miss a good 
deal out of our lives. Man needs the benign influence 


125 


David Makes a Discovery. 

of woman’s finer instincts to mold and soften his 
character. I have had a degree of this, of course, in 
my close companionship with my mother and sisters, 
and still I feel that there is something lacking in my 
life that I hope I will find some day.^^ 

Leon was tapping his fingers restlessly on the pol- 
ished table so that David’s words could have been 
scarcely heard by him, yet he replied, '' If marriage is 
the most satisfactory course of human existence why 
are there so many fail :res, and why do those who as- 
pire to the highest spiritual and mental development 
almost universally remain single ? 

“ I know that it is a common practise for those who 
seek to experience a high degree of religious exalta- 
tion to attain it by mortifying the flesh, by physical 
rigor, penance, prayers and by foregoing the privi- 
leges of union with the opposite sex, but I do not con- 
sider the method entirely a successful one. In my 
opinion it is not possible for either man or woman to 
reach the height of their inherent possibilities alone; 
and it is only because of the deterioration of and false 
education concerning man's noblest powers that the 
world considers celibacy a necessary factor to the at- 
tainment of high spiritual development. Not subor- 
dination of man’s natural powers, but purification and 
elevation, as well as education, is what is needed for 
us to come into the best of our mental inheritance.” 

David paused, surprised at the force of his own 
words, for these thoughts, but dimly entertained by 
him before, once let loose, gained strength by telling, 
and brought in their train a flood of half-defined reve- 


126 


A Woman’s Proiest. 


lations that startled and troubled him. But his friend 
was listening with glittering eyes, his countenance re- 
vealing his delight and honest admiration, but self- 
consciousness returning drove the light from his face 
as it always did, yet he replied with fervor : 

‘‘ All that you say is indeed true and I cannot but 
wonder how you have come to entertain such rational 
ideas. But you prove yourself illogical and your ar- 
guments lose force when you would willingly continue 
to see women retain their childish innocence, being 
allowed to take the marriage vows without knowledge 
of its unlimited license and the possible requirements 
that may be made of them, much like the flower- 
crowned human virgin sacrifices of old.’’ 

David bent his head, blushing deep in confusion, 
but was too honest not to frankly admit the cause of it. 

Yes, Leon, I see my lameness, but the cause of it 
is that I have never fully considered this subject 
before. My own remarks, as well as yours, have been 
a revelation to me.” 

'' Well, suppose you consider it now. What if 
your sister was about to marry the kind of man whom 
you felt convinced would make of her within a few 
years one of those semi-invalids such as you have 
mentioned. Why, you shudder at the thought. But 
what would you do about it? Save for expressing 
your disapproval of her choice, would you have the 
moral courage to tell her why you disapproved ? ” 

David mused deeply, for some time unable to an- 
swer, while his questioner busied himself in cutting 
the leaves of the new book. 


David Makes a Discovery. 127 

ril tell you what I think/' observed Leon after a 
while, “ is the substance of the whole matter. By 
some influence in the passing of time, the generative 
nature of the human race has become abnormally de- 
veloped, so that in many cases, though not all, on 
man's reaching his maturity it either consciously or 
unconsciously controls him in greater or lesser de- 
grees, lending its subtle influence to all that he does. 
If he marries, it may be that for the first time he is 
made aware of its force and influence, and seeks to 
gratify the demands it makes upon him by affording 
it its natural stimulus. If he remains single and 
through moral restraint lives the life of a celibate he 
becomes what you not infrequently find him as a 
bachelor, — a warped, twisted, contrary, freakish na- 
ture, much like an apple that has mellowed in the 
shade. 

‘‘ To some degree this is also noticeable in maiden 
women, in some more than others, of course. Obvi- 
ously it is not good for persons of either sex to be 
alone. Each one, being only a half of creation, needs 
that other half to complement and supply that which 
is lacking in himself or herself. Therefore marriage 
is, or at least ought to be, the epitome of all human 
happiness and success. 

“ But what are the evidences of its being so among 
our highly cultivated, studious and cultured civilization 
of to-day ? We have only to look about us on every hand 
for the fruits of marriage in its present state. Every- 
where crowded prisons, overflowing insane hospitals 
from whose doors hundreds are annually turned away 


128 


A Woman's Protest. 


for want of accommodations; — reformatories, schools 
for feeble-minded, cripples, blind, deaf-and-dumb, all 
of whom testify to the present terrible condition of 
human relationship so distorted as to bring forth a 
large per cent, of human beings thus maimed and 
worse than ruined for time and eternity, born with a 
fixed destiny of sinfulness, murder and all kinds of 
crime, none of which are worse than that unlimited 
license which allows all such to reproduce their kind.'^ 

''But, Leon, what would you have? Already the 
laws of every kind pertaining to such things are be- 
coming burdensome and hard to carry out under the 
loved liberty of our liberty-loving civilization. 

Leon sighed. 

" No, it is not in legislation that any practical rem- 
edy can be looked for. No reformation is valuable 
save as it cultivates the spirit and desire of reform in 
individuals or classes. What mankind to-day needs 
most is to be educated in that highest of all knowl- 
edge, an understanding of themselves. It is not usu- 
ally from any desire to sin that men do those things 
that are carrying our world to an ignominious end, 
but rather from a failure of education and a lack of 
knowledge of the results of their excesses. Yet, 
strange to say, education on those problems touching 
the most vital interests of the human family are not 
well received. 

" Occasionally some fanatic, usually a religious one, 
gets hold by accident, or possibly by revelation (let 
us be liberal), of some principle of life-science that 
has a ring of truth in it. He at once tacks it to a 


David Makes a Discovery. 129 

creed and s^oes forth seeking his quota of followers. 
The masses rail at these religionists but neverthe^-ess 
they have their mission, for by such means as these, 
by little and little, the conservative old world is learn- 
ing what it might have knowQ and profited by ages 
ago, if it had but listened to Nature’s teachings. For 
example, among those various sects that, springing up 
from time to time, have made self-restraint a religious 
ordinance, it has been marked that the fruits of such 
as married among them have in nearly all cases been 
inestimably purer and healthier than those of other 
classes. And thus has been revealed one powerful 
truth well worth remembering, that when woman’s 
sanctity is properly respected, the world will be popu- 
lated with a more healthful and moral race. 

When harmonious love and mutual desire, and 
not passion pitted against disgust and repugnance, 
shall prompt the sacred associations of the sexes in 
lawful marriage ; when woman shall be made man’s 
equal and have equable rights to say what shall and 
what shall not be between them, then the cohesion of 
two harmonious natures will be blessed in its results. 
Both male and female shall become one in the highest 
sense that true marriage implies, each complementing 
the other’s deficiencies and so blending and softening 
the character of each that both natures will become 
mellower, riper, sweeter, and their fullest capacity of 
mental and physical development shall be reached. 
And the world, from such marriages, shall soon be 
peopled with a new race, beautiful and good in char- 
acter, lofty and pure in sentiment and aspiration, 
9 


130 


A Woman’s Protest. 


strong and symmetrical in physique, with intellectual, 
spiritual, social, conjugal and creative forces all in 
harmony with each other, and none in undue predom- 
inance to mar and ruin the rest. Such specimens of 
humanity are indeed rare at the present day, although 
that there are human beings closely approaching this 
perfection of life makes my ideal real and the highest 
attainments of man’s imaginations not too high to be 
developed in mortals if they will.” 

There was a suspicion of tears in Leon’s eyes as he 
ceased speaking, and David would not break the train 
of eloquent thought by any observation of his. In- 
deed the man was overwhelmed with the rich flow of 
truth which he had accidentally started from this 
hitherto unknown fountain of knowledge (or experi- 
ence) in his friend’s nature, and at the same time he 
felt a keen sense of conviction that at last he had dis- 
covered the keynote to his friend’s strongest peculiar- 
ities, due to something strange and terrible in the 
short period of his past history, for upon no other 
subject had he ever heard Leon speak so fervently. 
David had no prying curiosity and would have hesi- 
tated long had he had it in his power to unfold for his 
own gratification what he felt sure must have been a 
dark and grievous past in this young man’s unfold- 
ment and development. Still he could not help won- 
dering at times what kind of an environment it was 
which had developed the sharp angularities manifest 
in Leon Wheatley. At any rate this new line of study 
and investigation proved very interesting to his pro- 
gressive mind, and he resolved to draw Leon into the 
discussion of it whenever opportunity favored. 


Breaking Home Ties. 


131 


CHAPTER III. 

BREAKING HOME TIES. 

About this time there came a little crisis in the 
affairs of the Burford family. For some time poor 
Nell had been pale in features, languid and depressed 
in spirits, and her mother studied her condition with 
ever-increasing anxiety. David, who was usually 
quick to detect the slightest aspect of disturbance, 
either mental or physical, in any of the three women 
to whom he was devoted, had of late been too much 
absorbed in his own affairs to show much concern or 
to really consider his sister’s drooping spirits and fail- 
ing health. 

One day while David was absent, presumably at 
the home of his intimate friend, Nell returned from 
a business trip to the city wearing an air of sup- 
pressed excitement, which her mother’s love-acute 
hearing detected while the young girl mounted the 
stair. Entering with flushed cheeks Nell came and 
knelt by her mother’s couch, producing as she did so 
a letter bearing a foreign stamp. It was from a 
brother of her deceased father, who resided in Paris, 
the possessor of a handsome fortune, from whom they 
had not heard for a long time. 

The letter was a lengthy one, expressing the warm- 


132 A Woman’s Protest. 

est affection for the family and a sincere interest in its 
welfare. The writer stated that he and his wife had 
recently sustained a grievous loss in the death of their 
only child, a beautiful young girl just budding into 
womanhood. He now wrote to offer Nell all the ad- 
vantages and opportunities in .life that would have 
fallen to the lot of his own daughter had she been 
spared to enjoy them, if only Nell would come and 
fill their empty hearts and cheer them by her compan- 
ionship in their loneliness and sorrow. Whatever line 
of education she preferred, the letter went on to state, 
its full privileges should be granted her, with entire 
liberty to return home when her studies were com- 
pleted, or before in case of necessity. 

The invalid read the letter very carefudy, while 
Nell closely studied her mother’s countenance. As 
she gathered the scattered sheets and replaced them 
in the envelope Mrs. Burford said with fervor : 

“We must give this matter our most serious con- 
sideration, my child. Perhaps Providence has di- 
rected the offering of this good gift. If so we must 
not thwart God’s plans for you.'' 

“ Mother, do you think for a moment that I would 
leave you?" exclaimed Nell in a tone of sorrowful 
reproach. 

“ My precious daughter," replied the mother in a*l 
tenderness, “ I deeply appreciate your life of self-sac- 
rifice in my behalf, but it has long been a matter 
of secret grief with me that you should be obliged to 
forego all the advantages of higher education, and the 
refinements of social life that properly belong to every 


Breaking Home Ties. 133 

young woman, just because I am a good-for-nothing 
invalid/’ 

‘‘ O no, you must not say that,” expostulated Nell, 
bursting into tears. 

“ And I have been earnestly praying for a long 
time,” went on the mother, stroking the drooped head, 

that the way might open, all — according to — God’s 
will ” (tremblingly) “ for you to escape this loving 
servitude which you have so cheerfully rendered me 
for the last ten years.” 

'' But what would become of you, Mother, if I 
should go away? ” asked Nell breathlessly, raising her 
flushed, wet face for a moment. 

Nellie, my darling,” said Mrs. Burford with mel- 
ancholy tenderness, no one could ever wait upon me 
as you have done, that is sure; but you must realize 
that our Mabel is rapidly developing into a very sen- 
sible young woman, and is even now much stronger 
than you are physically. You cannot think how easily 
she lifts me when neither you nor David are about. 
Then, too, — I suppose you have not observed it — the 
girl is so eager to be of service to me that she is actu- 
ally envious of your necessity to me, and even has oc- 
casional fits of despondency because she fancies I love 
you better than I do her. She would be delighted, I 
know, to become my nurse, and with good old Becky’s 
help we would get along fairly well, if after due con- 
sideration it appears wise for you to accept this truly 
generous offer from your noble uncle. And you 
know. Dear, that David is even now planning to en- 
gage a tutor for Mabel so that she can study at home. 


134 


A Woman^s Protest. 


It is only for you I am thinking, Nell, I shall not dare 
to think of myseif in this matter. But I do so want 
you to enjoy the few years of youth that remain to 
you in developing your mental and spiritual possibil- 
ities, my daughter.'' 

At this juncture David entered the room and the 
important letter was submitted to him without a hint 
of its contents from either woman. He read the closely 
written pages rapidly, giving vent to frequent sub- 
dued exclamations, and at last looked up joyously to 
say as he folded the letter : 

'' O, I say, Nell, what a lucky girl you are! To go 
to Paris and study art, the highest ambition of your 
life, and to be introduced into the best Parisian soci- 
ety ! Whew! But I suppose Mother couldn’t 

spare you." 

His animation was suddenly cooled by thoughts of 
his invalid mother, and his la^t observation was re- 
gretful enough and revealed his keen disappointment 
although there was in it no note of selfishness. 

‘‘ Mother thinks she can spare me as well as not," 
responded Nell with some bitterness. But when she 
saw the reproachful tears that roPed down her moth- 
er’s wan cheeks she heartily regretted the cruel words, 
and her self-condemnation was severe indeed. And 
between the three an affecting scene followed which 
proved to them all how utterly dependent each was 
upon the other. 

Late that evening David stole to his mother’s bed- 
side for a little quiet talk and together they discussed 
the subject, pro and con. 


Breaking Home Ties. 


135 


I feel that you have not yet guessed, my son, my 
true motive in thus urging Neil to accept this offer to 
spend some time with her uncle in Paris.’’ 

“ Why yes. Mother, I think I understand. Nell is 
less cheerful and Vivacious than she used to be. I 
think she is not feeling well of late. I have been 
thinking recently that her long years of anxiety and 
care for you, — for the heaviest of the burden has fallen 
upon her youthful shoulders, — you must not mind my 
speaking of it in that way. Mother, it is a burden we 
all have carried most willingly, and there is nothing 
that we would not gladly sacrifice for your com- 
fort ” 

Yes, yes, my son, I know all that you mean. Go 
on, please. What about Nell?” 

'' Why, only that I think this continued responsi- 
bility and care is beginning to tax her strength, and 
I have been thinking that the girl needs rest and 
change, but for my life I could not see how such a 
thing was to be brought about.” 

'' All that you say is undoubtedly true, but have you 
thought of no other possible cause for this loss of 
natural buoyancy and cheerfulness in our Ned? ” 

'' N-0-0,” responded David slowly, I have ob- 
served no other cause, I am sure.” 

'' How long since this change in her condition was 
first observed by you, David ? ” 

The young man laughed softly. 

‘‘ Why, you would make a good barrister, Mother.” 
Then he added more thoughtfully, Well, it has been 
three or four months, I suppose. I had been com- 


A Woman’s Protest. 


136 

meriting, I remember, on her unusual exuberance of 
spirits for a time back when presently she began to 
droop a little and has been growing paler and more 
listless ever since, although at times she is bright 
and cheerful as one could wish to see. I confess, I 
do not understand her case.'' 

‘‘ You have not dreamed, then, that the dear girl’s 
affections might be implicated in this sudden change 
of conduct and health-conditions? I see you are not 
familiar with the symptoms of unrequited love," said 
his mother in a tone that, though serious, had a touch 
of playfulness in it. 

But David was startled. 

Mother, what are you hinting at ? Out with it, 
please, and teh me just what you mean." 

'' I mean that since our Nellie has associated with 
Leon Wheatley she has become a changed girl. In 
other words, your sister has fallen in love with our 
handsome friend and neighbor. His is a charming 
personality and I do not wonder much that the poor 
child’s head was turned." 

‘'Nell in love with Leon Wheatley!" mused 
David. 

“ Hurrah, Mother, that would make a splendid 
match," he suddenly exclaimed with enthusiastic 
fervor. 

. “ Perhaps so, but you do not appear to understand 
that your friend has never given her any encourage- 
ment. For while so considerate, courteous and kind, 
Leon has never shown more than a friendly interest in 
her, so far as I can learn. He has a very intuitive 


137 


Breaking Home Ties. 

mind, and I think he understood what her ill-con- 
cealed admiration really meant, even before she real- 
ized it herself. You know how he has ceased to come 
here, and you have been surprised also at her deter- 
mined refusal to go any more to his beautiful home. I 
think their reasons are practically one and the same, 
and in my heart I respect them both for it. 

Nell has never intimated her feelings to me, but 
I have watched her closely, and T think I have read 
her thoughts so clearly that I realized the very time 
when she first awakened to a consciousness of her de- 
voted love for this man. Afterwards, though more 
slowly, she was made aware and obliged to confess to 
her own disappointed heart, that this all-absorbing 
love of hers was in no degree reciprocated. The mor- 
tification and sorrow of this, together with her yearn- 
ing affection for him, is what has stolen the roses 
from her cheeks. 

'' Leon is a true gentleman, that is self-evident, and 
I do not think him the least to blame in this matter, 
but Nell has suffered, — my noble daughter ! 

The invalid paused. Both she and her son were 
weeping. David, his great heart overflowing with 
sympathy and sorrow, buried his face in the counter- 
pane and sobbed audibly. To him it was a terrible 
thing that love should be enthroned in a beautiful 
woman’s soul without such love being fully accepted 
and reciprocated by the object of its affection. But 
another emotion was stirring within him, too. A feel- 
ing he was at a loss to understand, that swayed his 
judgment even against his will. It was a fierce sense 


A Woman’s Protest. 


138 

of indignation and resentment toward his sister for 
having dared to fall in love with Leon Wheat'ey. It 
was as if this friend, for whom he felt such irresistible 
affinity, belonged solely to himself and none other had 
any right to entertain even an unrequited love for him. 
David’s loyalty to hiS sister and honesty to himseli 
strongly condemned this emotion, but the more he 
strove to suppress it and reason it out of his mind, 
the stronger grew its possession of him. Therefore 
he hid his face and wept; out of sympathy for his 
sister, certainly, but not less so perhaps because he 
felt out of harmony with himself. 

For the next three weeks Leon Wheatley saw little 
of David. Fie did not even know of the contemplated 
change in his neighbor’s family relations, although 
David had hinted that home affairs would be likely 
to keep him closely confined for a time. 

In fact great preparations were going oil with the 
Burfords. Nell was actually making ready to join her 
uncle’s family in Paris and was much engrossed in 
the necessary preparations. Young Mabel was in a 
fever of excitement, and was already taking on many 
new airs in consideration of her coming responsibili- 
ties. David was kept constantly busy in doing er- 
rands, waiting upon his mother and sister and in 
keeping the latter’s courage up to the demands of the 
occasion, for whenever she stopped to contemplate 
leaving her invalid mother, Nell would grow suddenly 
hysterical and all preparations were likely to stop if 
David was not at hand to admonish and cheer her. 

But the young man found it difficult to forego the 


139 


Breaking Home Ties. 

enjoyment of his valued friend’s companionship for 
long, and so one afternoon he slipped away from the 
house when he thought he could best be spared, and 
walked over to Leon Wheatley's home, where, with 
his usual familiarity, he dropped into the library un- 
announced. He half regretted his peremptory en- 
trance, however, when he noted the surprise and con- 
fusion depicted on his friend’s face at his unexpected 
appearance. David readily discerned the cause of this 
annoyance, for on the large reading-tab'.e a dozen 
copies at least of the new book they had so recently 
discussed, ‘‘Where Is the Remedy?” still lay in the 
loosened wrapper in which they had traveled ; while 
Leon, pen in hand, sat at the table with a similar 
copy before him, in which already he had made many 
significant marks of approval and correction in the 
margins. There was but one conclus'on to be de- 
duced from this odd circumstance and David jumped 
upon it at once, and with his usual impetuosity of 
good-will burst out: 

“ By Jove, old fellow, why didn’t I guess it before? 
And why on earth did you not tell me? Accept my 
hearty congratulations on your success, if it is rather 
late in the day to offer them.” 

With unselfish enthusiasm he wrung his friend’s 
irresponsive hand. 

“ I might have known you were the author of that 
book. Why, Leon, it’s yourself all through, on every 
page and line. And what a success ! It‘s the most 
popular book of the day. The papers are full of its 
praises, which the worst critics can’t help but consent 


140 


A Woman’s Protest. 


to. They say the sentiment is clear and strong, and 
the logic so, — er, — logical. It’s almost a wonder, too, 
that some one of those social purity idiots hasn't tried 
to suppress it, for the world is so afraid to be in- 
structed in the truths it most needs to know. And the 
story, too. Heavens ! How realistic it is ! ” 

David rambled on unthinkingly, never observing, 
in his own enthusiasm, that the author of the book 
himself was not in a similar state of elation, until 
suddenly Leon made a violent gesture. 

“ Stop, I tell you,” he cried fiercely. Keep that 
kind of ta^k to yourself. I can’t stand it, don’t you 
see I can’t ? ” 

David did see, as he stopped abruptly and for the 
first time since his entrance took a good look at his 
friend. How white and drawn Leon’s face was, as if 
he was suffering great physical agony. His eyelids 
drooped strangely, his nostrils looked pinched, and the 
corners of his colorless lips twitched nervously. Alto- 
gether he looked ten years older than the last time 
David had seen him. 

David’s ready sympathies were stirred to their 
depths as he realized that in some way his rash enco- 
miums of praise and ardor had only added another 
lash to the young man’s already goaded spirits, and 
his feelings of remorse and sorrow for his friend so 
mastered him that he felt the hot tears come with a 
gush. Ashamed of this boyish weakness he covered 
his face witli his hands and kept them there until he 
had regained his self-control. But when he looked 
up again Leon was gone. 


Breaking Home Ties. 141 

On finding himself alone David’s first impulse was 
to quietly leave the house and return home, but on- 
second thought he concluded to remain awhile, for if 
his friend was really as ill as he looked there might 
be need of his presence. He stretched himself, there- 
fore, on a luxurious couch and soon almost for- 
got his surroundings in the absorbing perusal of a 
book. 

An hour may have passed thus when Leon, with 
light step, re-entered the room from the rear. 

“ I thought I would not leave until I had at least 
been given an opportunity to tell you the object of 
my intruding upon you to-day,” said David in a 
good-natured drawl. 

‘‘ That was quite proper,” was the reply in a quiet 
tone of assurance that relieved David's fears of his 
presence being unwelcome. 

Leon had certainly gained a marvelous self-control 
in that short hour. His manner showed less nervous 
tension, he was a shade less pallid, and was outwardly 
calm and passive. David wondered at the change, 
as, without rising, he proceeded to relate briefly his 
uncle’s generous offer to Nell and her subsequent ac- 
ceptance. 

‘‘ So now she will be off in a few days to enjoy new 
scenes, new friends and new duties. We are all 
hoping the change will do her good in reviving her 
drooping spirits a little,” said David in conclusion, 
looking sharply at his friend. 

But Leon’s countenance did not change as he re- 
plied fervently: 


142 


A Woman’s Protest. 


“ I am truly glad to hear of your sister’s pheasant 
prospect. The new environments will be beneficial as 
you say. It will enrich her who^e life, and broaden her 
ideas about many things, by which, let us trust, she 
will be made more fully capable of filling her proper 
sphere in life.” 

David put his own construction upon this studied 
little speech, and was suspicious enough to detect in 
it a tone of relief on Leon’s part, and though he 
thought no less of his friend for it, in spite of his 
wayward mood of a former occasion he felt a little 
disappointed, realizing that the interests of his sister 
were much at stake. 

By the way,” Leon went on after a pause, taking 
up from the pile one of the new books of which his 
authorship had been betrayed, are you not ready 
now to let your sister have the advantage of reading 
a book of this character ? ” 

Ready and willing to put it into her hands my- 
self,” was the eager, laughing answer. “ She will be 
sure to hear it discussed in Paris anyhow, and besides 
I am really anxious to have her know all that book 
can teach her. I only hope you will write another 
similar one within a year or two. And I wish every 
young woman in the land could read what you have 
written already, for I am sure that this amount of in- 
formation alone would eventually revolutionize the 
world.” 

Ah, then, if you are willing, you may take her 
one of these copies. No, rather, that she may not 
guess its origin, either the giver or author, you may 


Breaking Home Ties. 143 

take her this older copy which we have read together. 
That will arouse less suspicion. Do not let her know 
that it is in any way connected with me, if you can 
help it, David.'' 

I will do as you wish," replied David, taking the 
proflfered gift, " but some day I think she will be 
much gratified to do you honor for having written this 
book." 

With Nell gone from the little home-circle, where 
she was much missed, David could not visit the bach- 
elor abode as often as of old. His mother and sister 
needed his society and minded his absence much more 
than formerly. It was some time, therefore, before 
David became fully aware of the change that was 
creeping over his friend, or rather a still deeper in- 
tensity of his most marked peculiarities. Leon Wheat- 
ley had always been quiet, reserved and often much 
preoccupied in manner, but never absolutely un- 
friendly or inhospitable. 

But of late he had grown moody, listless, taciturn ; 
appearing not to care whether David came to see him 
or not. Yet always when David was in his presence 
there would be moments when over his countenance 
would come a strangely wistful, questioning expres- 
sion, while his eyes would gleam like burning coals 
for an instant, only to grow dull and sullen when 
David answered the inexplicable message by a ques- 
tioning gaze, full of love, from his own eyes. The 
deep melancholy into which the young man's spirit 
had fallen, and from which he rarely rahied, soon 


A Woman’s Protest. 


144 

began to have a blighting effect upon his usually 
Splendid health. 

Several times, when in spite of this unsocial aspect, 
David longed for his friend’s society, yet could not 
remain away from his loved ones, he had urged Leon 
into spending a few hours with them. But these 
visits were for the most part unsatisfactory to all 
concerned, and excited the gentle invalid apparently 
more than was good for her ; for all her ardent sym- 
pathies were aroused in the young man’s behalf, and 
David sometimes wondered at the earnestness with 
which she talked of him. 

His health is failing, that is certain,” Mrs. Bur- 
ford said one day to her son, and it would be a 
matter of no surprise if his beautiful mind should 
eventua.lly become shattered, shutting himself up 
there alone as he does. The soul of man needs com- 
panionship and love, and this young life seems so de- 
void of both. I am glad you love him so like a brother. 
Dear, and I wish you would seek him oftener, even if 
I have to do without you occasionally. Stick to him, 
won’t you, Davy? Even though he is a little sullen 
sometimes. He needs you, I am sure, poor fellow! 
There is something terribly wrong somewhere. We 
must not lose our influence over him if we can pre- 
vent it, my son.” 

David could not account for the peculiar earnestness 
of his mother’s voice as she said this, nor for the 
unusual light in her eyes ; but her words made a deep 
and lasting impression, and he firmly resolved to 
stick like a brother to this strange slip of humanity, 


Breaking Home Ties. 145 

and to not be deterred in his purpose by any incivility 
on the other’s part, if he could help it. He soon 
found, however, that to keep the pledge he had made 
with himself would demand greater forbearance and 
more policy and tact than he had ever been called 
upon to express ; for, as time went on young Wheat- 
ley grew more irritable and morose than ever, and 
sometimes nettled David almost beyond endurance by 
his caustic sarcasm in regard to much in life which 
he had always accepted with simple, unquestioning 
faith. 

David never again succeeded in bringing out to any 
extent his friend’s unique theories upon the great and 
perplexing problems of human relationships, but he 
secretly found keen satisfaction in the frequent peru- 
sal of the book which his friend had given to the 
world. And in the study of its thrilling narrative he 
came to feel more and more that in some subtle man- 
ner this weird story was closely interwoven with the 
life-romance of the author, and was not wholly im- 
aginative. He even became convinced that this book 
was a key, which, if properly fitted, would unlock the 
hidden chambers of the man’s heart, and reveal its 
depths of mystery and sorrow. 

So David resolved to wait and to watch over his 
friend, trusting that the time would come when his 
faithfulness would be appreciated, and the man who 
to all appearances so needed a friend would recognize 
such in him, and would reward his trustworthiness 
by leaning upon his strong affections and yielding to 

his sympathy and support. But little did he realize 

10 


146 A Woman*s Protest. 

that such a time was not far distant and that the 
turn in the road was to lead his friend out of his 
difficulties, not only, but to woo him also into strangely 
new and untried paths. 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 


147 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE UPHEAVAL OF A SOUL. 

One day David found Leon lying, pale and lan- 
guid, in a hammock stretched between two spreading 
shade-trees that grew on the broad lawn in front of 
his house. 

“ You look sick, Leon,’’ began David with his usual 
abruptness. What’s wrong, old fellow ? Can’t you 
trust a friend just an inch or two?” he continued, 
drawing up a rustic garden chair close beside the 
hammock. 

Leon closed his eyes wearily and sighed, but made 
no answer. David’s heart ached for his friend, and 
he longed to be of help and service to the man in his 
sorest needs. 

“ I say, it’s too hard on you sticking to this place 
month in and month out, without variety and almost 
without society. Can’t you and I fix up a scheme to 
go oflf into the country for a week on a little hunting 
expedition? Guess Mother could spare me that long, 
and I myself feel the need of a little toning up. I am 
sure a week of camping-out life this fine weather 
would do wonders in giving you back something of 
your natural vigor and energy that you seem to be 
losing lately.” 


148 A Woman’s Protest. 

It was a bold speech and David waited a little fear- 
fully for the answer. 

“ Thanks, David,” the other replied slowly and with 
some tenderness, “ I don’t fail to appreciate your 
kindness, but the fact is I am contemplating a per- 
manent change quite soon that will involve a sea-voy- 
age, and eventually taking up my residence in another 
country.” 

David stared in pained astonishment. 

'' You don’t mean to say, do you, that you are about 
to leave Australia?” 

'' That’s what Tve planned to do very shortly,” re- 
sponded Leon with forced calmness. ” The climate, 
or something, does not wholly agree with me, and I 
am resolved to get away from here as soon as 
possible.” 

‘‘ But — but what will you do with your property 
and all your stock, and the beautiful home you have 
built here ? ” asked David in a bewildered sort of way, 
visions of its former desolation and loneliness float- 
ing before him. 

“ Well, I have about as good as disposed of all 
that,” was the reply. I have been on the lookout 
for a purchaser for some time, and I have at last 
found an individual who thinks he will take the place 
just as it is, — house, furnishings, live-stock and all, — 
so that I shall be entirely relieved. He is coming on 

the train from N to-morrow, and if the properly 

suits him as well as he expects, we will close the 
bargain at once.” 

David could not conceal his dismay at the prospect 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 14^ 

of losing Leon in this abrupt fashion, and the more 
he contemplated it the more he thought he saw in it 
that which was unjust, questionable and inconsiderate 
toward himself, — to have never given him a single 
hint of the contemolated change in affairs, and now to 
speak of it so coolly, as if he, Leon, had nothing at all 
to regret, and everything to anticipate in getting 
away. Furthermore, David felt out of patience with 
himself for having allowed this strange individual 
who had drifted into the neighborhood from nobody 
knew where, and who was preparing to leave it in 
much the same fashion, to have come into his life and 
so filled and satisfied his affectionate heart. The fact 
was that the young man had so played upon David's 
responsive ardor and sympathy, that he now felt that 
to let him go was like tearing out a part of his heart- 
strings and throwing them ruthlessly away. 

And was he to go away so suddenly, leaving both 
advent and egress enshrouded in mystery, and, as 
David now surmised, suspicion also? It was surely 
unjust, unthankful, in short, unendurable. 

The pain and annoyance, therefore, which Leon's 
cool announcement gave him, threw David into just 
that tense, nervous excitement in which only a little 
crossing of the grain sufficed to vex and provoke him 
into an uncontrollable passion. Presumably, also, the 
terrible crisis of suffering which it was obvious that 
Leon had been undergoing for the last few weeks 
served to put the same strain upon his nervous system 
which had now infected that of his truly loyal friend. 
And so, without intent to wound, both gave vent to 


A Woman^s Protest. 


150 

their feelings in expressions that caused mutual vex- 
ation and irritability, and before either one realized 
what was being said hot, harsh words had passed be- 
tween them which stung painfully deep, and although 
neither of them afterwards knew exactly why, the 
sensitive natures of both smarted long under the lash 
of cruel sarcasm and mutual accusations. 

The quarrel was short in duration but sharp and de- 
cisive, and David at last acknowledged himselt beaten, 
or at least ready to retreat, by stalking angrily out of 
the yard and mounting his horse, which started off at 
a fierce gallop under the stimukis of the rider’s spurs. 

That night David could not sleep. He was mor- 
bidly excited over his friend’s conduct, and angry 
with himself for having allowed his passionate temper 
to gain control of him, thus widening the gulf that 
Leon was evidently trying to put between them. 
Fever, too, raged within him and touched his mind 
with delirium, so that gloomy pictures of injury to 
himself, and bitter revenge for imaginary wrongs 
floated through his brain, which in his lucid moments 
gave him mortification and chagrin that such vicious 
thoughts should find birth in him. So through all the 
long weary hours he tossed restlessly from side to 
side, miserable, full of pain, clutching his pillow in 
his teeth to smother his moans of agony and distress, 
until the wan light of dawn that crept in between the 
curtains found him lying pak, haggard and exhausted 
but with eyes preternaturally bright, and, weak as he 
was, showing in his countenance a suppressed excite- 
ment and impatience for the day to come that he 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 15 1 

might be up and doing. For during that wild night 
a desperate plan had developed in David’s brain, a 
plan born of .his delirium and in which neither con- 
science nor judgment had part. But so deeply was his 
feverish mind imbued with his mad scheme that only 
the one eager wish to put it into execution had con- 
trol of him, and to this end every efifort of that un- 
happy day was spent. 

Among the passengers who alighted from the after- 
noon train in Melbourne that day was a lean, sharp- 
visaged, scholar ’y little man with spectacles on nose 
and small traveling-grip in hand. He had a nervous 
quickness of manner that made him appear as if in a 
great hurry as he passed down the length of the plat- 
form scanning rather anxiously the faces of the little 
crowd of citizens always attendant upon the arrival of 
a train. It was David who stepped out before him and 
inquired respectfully : 

“ Were you looking for some one, sir ? 

'' Yes, — er, no, sir, no, I was not. But stay, per- 
haps you can give me the information I desire. I came 

down from N to transact a little business with 

one Wheatley. Do you know any one of that name 
who lives hereabouts ? ’’ 

The stranger scanned David’s countenance keenly 
as he spoke. 

O, yes,” David replied deferentially, I live not 
far from his place. It’s a good four miles. I will be 
going that way soon, will you ride with me in my car- 
raige yonder ? ” 

The stranger looked at his watch nervously. 


152 


A Woman's Protest. 


I have but a few hours to stay, but, — why yes, I 
think ril go with you. Thanks.” 

I have only one errand to attend to,” said David 
as he drove rapidly through the business portion of 
the city, “ I must call on a real-estate agent with 
whom I have some business. In fact, I am going to 
report to him my unsuccessful efforts to find a pur- 
chaser for a handsome piece of farm-land that lies 
not far out of the way on the road we will travel. I 
will point out the boundaries of it as we go along. 
It’s the prettiest bit of country for miles around here, 
with good fields and meadows and some timber, and 
with house and barns that are almost new.” 

“ Is the place occupied? ” asked the stranger some- 
what interestedly. 

Only by some poor tenants, I believe, who live in 
the lodge. You see the owners are now touring in 
Europe, and as they are further anticipating a trip to 
America, with the view of remaining there for a few 
years, they are anxious to dispose of this bit of prop- 
erty. They offer to sell at a great sacrifice, but the 
difficulty is that they have some fine live-stock and a 
good deal of house-furniture, all of which they are 
desirous of selling with the place, which makes it 
more difficult to find a purchaser.” 

‘‘ How extremely fortunate,” said the stranger in 
a jerky voice. '' Why I am down here in search of 
just some such an offer as you describe, and came 
with the intention of looking over this young Wheat- 
ley’s place, who, I understand, is proposing to sell in 
much the same manner,” 


153 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 

Yes/’ replied David calmly, such sales are com- 
mon in this country. But you would find this property 
I speak of far more valuable than Wheatley’s. His 
house is a cottage compared to the mansion over yon- 
der, and his farm also is much smaller. Wheatley 
keeps things up in good shape and makes the most 
of ail he has, but the other place has by far the more 
superior natural advantages. And as these people are 
willing to sell ridiculously low, I presume you would 
find the price quite satisfactory if you should like the 
place, as I think you would do.” 

All that David had said was perfectly true, which 
yvas in his favor, for under no stress of circumstances, 
probably, could he have been induced to utter actual 
falsehoods. Had the anticipated loss of his friend 
been a matter of less import with him, however, noth- 
ing surely could have caused him to go so near the 
verge of absolute dishonesty and treason. It was 
without doubt the most culpable act in all his life, but 
for the time being he was biinded to the fact, and to 
all else save the hope of saving himself the distress of 
so soon losing sight of Leon Wheatley. 

Moved by an irresistible impulse which he could 
^ot understand, and which he dared not pause to de- 
fine, he had hurried about town that morning in 
search of just such a chance sale as he had accident- 
ally found in a friend’s office, with which to influence 
away, or at least to divert the attention of, the man 
on whom Leon was depending for an immediate dis- 
posal of his property. And not for one moment had 
he hesitated to put into execution his original plan 


154 


A Woman’s Protest. 


to interfere with Leon Wheatley’s personal interests, 
and thus betray almost the first confidence of any 
import with which the young man had intrusted him. 

Then, too, the words of his mother kept ringing in 
his brain, spurring him on in his feverish anxiety, 
until he almost seemed to hear her earnest voice re- 
peating again: “ Stick to him, won’t you, Davy? He 
needs you. I’m sure, poor fellow ! There is something 
terribly wrong somewhere. We must not lose our in- 
fluence over him if we can prevent it, my son.” 

They had arrived at the office of the real-estate 
agent. 

'' You might as well go in with me,” said David. 
‘‘ It will do no harm to talk up this matter a little. 
There will be plenty of time for you to go back to 
N on the midnight train.” 

Why, yes, certainly,” said the stranger energet- 
ically, I was thinking much the same about the mat- 
ter, myself. I will go in, of course.” 

A half-hour later David drove home from the city 
alone, leaving the wily agent to make the most of the 
bait held out to him, and that gentleman proved quite 
equal to the occasion. He took the stranger into his 
own vehicle and drove over to view the property in 
question, and when he felt that the man was fully 
convinced that it was precisely the place he was look- 
ing for, he courteously escorted him over to Leon 
Wheatley’s home, where he bade the stranger an af- 
fable good-day, confident within himself that to close 
the sale next morning would be easy, and so it event- 
ually proved to be. 


155 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 

It was some time before David found it convenient 
to visit Leon Wheatley again. He did not remain 
away because of their recent quarre^ nor any more 
because of the pangs of a guilty conscience. In fact 
he had not as yet been smitten with any serious com- 
punctions regarding his recent business venture, and 
the matter had not been much in his mind. Whether 
Leon was aware of what he had done or not was 
unknown to him, although David had been apprised 
of the sale of the property which he had advertised 
in so unusual a manner. What was to be the out- 
come of his recent quarrel with Leon, if the latter did 
remain, was a subject on which he did not Tike to 
allow his thoughts to dwell. But as the days dragged 
slowly by, he had plenty of time to ruminate upon 
his conduct in thwarting another’s well-ordered plans, 
and that other, too, one whose love and regard he 
would have given much to be assured of. 

The more he looked the matter over, therefore, the 
more dissatisfied he became with himself, and the 
more despicable and cowardly appeared the motive 
that could prompt such ungenerosity. He saw that 
whether Leon learned of it or not, his own conscious- 
ness of the deed had served to widen the gulf he felt 
was growing between them. And finally, after some 
little time had lapsed with no sight nor knowledge 
of Leon’s whereabouts, his soul grew sad with yearn- 
ing to «ee his friend, and he resolved to go a.t once 
and make a clear confession of his injustice to him, 
and plead for the pardon he knew he did not 
deserve. 


A Woman’s Protest. 


156 

Early that same evening, therefore, he set out, let- 
ting his horse jog laziiy along the familiar road, while 
he enjoyed a rather comforting reverie of what it 
would be when he should be reinstalled once more in 
Leon’s favor and good-will. Who could tell, but 
that the sad little break in their friendship might 
cause Leon to realize how much they really were 
to each other, and thereby be fraught with good 
results. 

David’s heart was filled with inexpressible love and 
tenderness for the man, and the warmth and ardor of 
that love comforted his soul and filled his mind with 
pleasant fancies as he rode along. But when his faith- 
ful horse turned unguided into the well-known open 
gateway, he drew rein so sharply that his startled steed 
snorted with surprise and indignation. A sudden 
pain striking his heart as his air-castles toppled over 
and faded into nothingness caused David to thus give 
vent to his feelings. At sight of the house the picture 
of the true Leon rose vividly before him, — cold, sinis- 
ter, impenetrable, a decided contrast to the Leon of 
his musings, with a heart as ardent as his own and 
a smile of welcome as warm and tender. 

All was quiet round about. Nothing was changed, 
nothing suggested the prospect of change. Within, 
Leon sat in his library where the lamps were already 
lighted, studying over some long accounts. He did 
not turn or look up when the door opened, but pres- 
ently the revolving chair in which he sat was gently 
swung round and David’s dark eyes, sad and tender^ 
looked questioningly down into his own, 


The Upheavel of a Soul. 157 

'' I am suffering keen regrets/’ said the visitor in a 
grave voice, from the first wrong I have ever done 
you, Leon.” 

“ O, you are, are you ? ” responded Leon coldly, 
but with a deep flush, as he picked up a small silver 
poniard that served as a paper-cutter from his desk, 
with fingers that trembled nervously. How white and 
slender those fingers were, David thought he had 
never fully realized before. 

'' In a spirit of desperation I did what my sober 
judgment cannot he^p but condemn,” went on David 
bravely. All there is left to me now is to express 
to you my sorrow at my rashness and humbly beg the 
forgiveness that I presume I do not deserve. If you 
do not know wherein my fault lies, I am willing to 
enlighten you first and receive your pardon after- 
wards, if I am not too unworthy of it.” 

He spoke with a quiet assurance that revealed how 
indissoluble he regarded the tie that bound them to- 
gether as friends. 

I am fully aware, David Burford, of the unkind- 
ness you have awarded me for my having foolishly 
confided in you. Though no word has been hinted to 
me by any one, yet I have read between the lines, and 
through existing effects I have been able to discrimi- 
nate causes. I entirely agree with you that you have 
done me a great injustice.” 

These words, spoken slowly and impressively in a 
clear voice that had in it a hard metallic ring, fretted 
David’s sensitive soul atid he answered rather sharply 
for. a penitent : ‘‘ You evidently have not taken the 


158 A Woman’s Protest. 

trouble to trace the cause 3’Ou speak of back to its true 
motive.” 

“ I know not your motive,” was the reply, ‘‘ but I 
do know that when for almost the first time in our ac- 
quaintance I entrusted you with a confidence, you be- 
trayed that confidence, and took pains to basely thwart 
all my immediate chances for disposing of my prop- 
erty, which I had so confidently hoped to do ere this. 
I do not see what satisfaction you are to gain by add- 
ing to my wretchedness. 

“ Long ago,” he continued, after a painful pause, 

I lost all confidence in human honesty and integrity 
of purpose. Something in you, however, aroused in 
me once more a sembiance of the faith and trust I 
once felt in those of my kind, and I came to look upon 
you, therefore, as a man having some honor. But 
now I see you as selfish as the rest, and quite as con- 
temptible.” 

Words fail to convey the sarcasm and disdain that 
these cruel sentiments expressed. Imagination cannot 
picture their effect upon David. It was all so unex- 
pected, so unlike, for in spite of Leoiis reserve and 
apparent disinterestedness in others, David knew that 
he never failed to express sympathy and a forgiving 
spirit toward those who were in any way weaker than 
himself. David told himself that Leon must be 
greatly changed. The Leon whom he had known 
would never have spoken thus bitterly to another, 
however grievous that other’s fault. 

David’s conviction was approximately correct, as, 
if he could have read his friend’s innermost thoughts 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 159 

at that moment, lie' would have known beyond con- 
jecture. The poniard held in Leon’s hand at that 
instant had for its owner a peculiar significance, 
with its two keen edges, capable of cutting both the 
victim and the hand that should strike the blow. It 
was well, Leon thought, that the object of his sarcasm 
did not know how keenly the edge of his own indig- 
nation and ire had been sharpened to inflict this very 
wound. But, although so deliberately prepared, Leon 
had not guessed the pain it would cause his own na- 
ture to inflict the well-deserved punishment. The 
cruel thrust had gone home, that was sure, and Da- 
vid’s gentle spirit was painfully wounded, yet of the 
two, Leon was at that moment the greater sufferer. 
So absorbed was he, in fact, in controlling his own 
emotions that for a time he scarcely understood what 
David was saying in response, though David’s sudden 
eloquence was not without power and force. 

The young man spoke of his life of self-sacrifice, 
devoted to his invalid mother and gentle sisters. 
Then how much the advent of this stranger had been 
to him, whose sad countenance and lonely state of 
existence had first appealed to his sympathies and 
awakened an interest, which afterwards deepened into 
a warmth and ardor of affection such as he had never 
felt for any other. Eventually he had come to feel 
that this sincere regard was not wholly unreturned. 
How could it be? In this conviction he had found 
comfort and rest. 

But suddenly Leon had coolly informed him that he 
was going away, going out of his life forever, without 


i6o A Woman's Protest. 

one expression of regret on his own part or consider- 
ation on that of his friend. It was evident, then, that 
he did not care. That all David’s love had been 
wasted on a loveless object, one most probably inca- 
pable of feeling human affection. This sentiment, so 
manifested by Leon’s conduct, had been maddening to 
him. 

David told of his night of anguish, and how the 
cunning plan to intercept the sale of Leon’s property 
was the child of a delirious brain, goaded on to its 
fulfilment by disappointment and chagrin. 

And now, after all this,” David cried passionately, 
'' you spurn my loyalty as a worthless thing, my 
friendship as something not to be nurtured under any 
difiiculty whatever. How can you regard human 
sentiment so lightly? What can a man hope for who 
has lost faith in the integrity and honesty of purpose 
of his fellows ? Where, oh where, shad he find peace 
and comfort for his soul? Where shall he abide and 
be at rest? What right has a man, anyhow, to judge 
of any other but himself, and to say that none but he 
are pure in heart and honest in purpose ; and that be- 
cause of it, he will fold his cloak around him and 
withdrawing from the world, live out his narrow span 
of existence in selfish aggrandizement of his own 
virtues ! What though the world has treated you 
badly? Do you not know that all bitterness, all an- 
tagonism is contemptible and marks the limits of 
human judgment?” 

David was on his feet as with clenched fists he plead 
his cause and humanity’s with an eloquence before 


The Upheaval of a Soul. i6i 

unknown to him. But presently in the midst of a 
burning sentence he paused abruptly. For the first 
time since he began this unpremeditated speech Leon 
had turned squarely around in his chair, with the 
lamp-light full in his face, at sight of which David 
checked himseif in unfeigned astonishment. The 
young man was pallid to the lips and his cheeks had 
that sunken look only produced by intense suffering. 
David suddenly feels that again his too quick passions, 
have caused him to misunderstand this man whose na- 
ture, deep, hidden and intense, is so different from his 
own, and again he is touched with remorse, while his 
tender heart, forgetting the stinging words spoken but 
now by Leon, only grieved over this wrecked young 
life, and pity superseded in him all harsher senti- 
ment. 

I see what my words have led to/' said Leon in 
that pause, and I realize more than ever how im- 
possible it is for me to be understood by others. If I 
have misjudged, you, David Bur ford, then far more 
have your words passed unjust sentence upon me." 

But how can I understand you if I cannot take 
your words at their face value ? " cried David ear- 
nestly. Why should I be allowed to go on forever 
misjudging you, while you on your part fail to under- 
stand and appreciate me ? What do I ask but a 
return of the sympathy I feel for you and the confi- 
dence I place in you ? O Leon, my brother ! will you 
not trust me? Am I to stand forever outside the 
boundaries of your affections and see your young life 
wither and die within your body, and not be allowed 


162 


A Woman^s Protest. 


to comfort or sustain you, or perhaps even save that 
life by my sympathy and help ? '' 

Even as he spoke David watched with growing 
alarm the slow transformation of the face before him 
from mere paleness to a deathlike gray, while the 
glittering eyes gazed at some picture beyond, which 
he could not see. 

'' You are on the verge of madness, Leon, because 
of this terrible strain which you have laid upon your- 
self and are struggling to endure alone. I demand 
that you let me share it with you. There is no sorrow 
that will not yield a little by being whispered into a 
sympathetic ear. 

Leon, Leon,’’ cried David, from the depths of 
his burdened heart, I know not why my soul loves 
you as it does, but because it does so I cannot endure 
to see you shut yourself up in your house of grief, as 
you are doing. You must respond to my boundless 
sympathy and affection.” 

So saying, from behind Leon’s chair, David placed 
his strong arms caressingly about the narrow shoul- 
ders, and put a cool hand on the fevered brow of his 
friend. But almost at the touch Leon sprang from his 
seat with a sharp cry of anguish and darted wildly 
across the room, where he turned like a hunted deer 
at bay, half-terrified, half-defiant. 

‘‘No, no, do not touch me!” he ejaculated in an 
unnatural tone of voice. “ Neither must you talk to 
me any more like that. Why do you persist in tor- 
menting and tempting me? Why will you try to 
wrest from me that of which the confession would 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 163 

only render me more miserable and rob you of all your 
pleasing delusions concerning me? You think I treat 
you coldly and ungratefuhy, but I tell you frankly 
that if you shouM know that which you have asked me 
to reveal, it would kill outright every vestige of 
sympathy and regard for me which you now profess 
to feel. You would detest and abhor me from this 
hour and all your life might be made miserable to 
you for having unwittingly allied yourself to me as 
friend and counsellor. 

Nay, I know best and am kinder to you than you 
think. I have sinned, and must sutler accordingly, 
in having allowed you to come about me, thereby 
thwarting my most earnest purpose in coming here. 
Ah ! but for that mistake I might have been happy 
yet, here alone where I had withdrawn from the world, 
like a wounded bird from the snare of the fowler. 
I had suffered such wrongs, and I was fettered too. 
Say, were you ever fettered to a shame, that you were 
forced to carry about with you always ? But when at 
last I was made free, — ha, ha ! I flew away, — 7S0 far, 
until my wings were tired and I alighted — here. Here 
in this isolated spot, where I was so glad to rest and 
be in quiet and alone, and to live my life as it pleased 
me. I wove my web to live in like any wise old spider. 
See what beauty I have created around me. Hark to 
the low baying of my dogs and the lonely nicker of 
my favorite steed. These were my companions. They 
fawned upon me, licked my hands, understood my 
moods, asked nothing, demanded nothing and neither 
complained nor condemned. 


A Woman’s Protest. 


164 

‘‘ Then you came/’ 

The speaker had wandered retrospectively as if 
in a pleasant dream. His eyes, still glittering, gazed 
into illimitable space; a happy smile played about his 
lips like that of a pleased child. 

'' Then you came,” he said, and the light of the 
smile died away. His head drooped in self-abnega- 
tion, his voice quivered mournfully. 

'' I did not drive you from me as I should have 
done. Somehow you were different from other hu- 
man beings, — more like my dogs and horses. And I, 
like a fool, fell to dreaming of the possibility of know- 
ing human happiness again through the medium of 
another’s comradeship. But it was because I realized 
that I had shut myself away from all human com- 
panionship forever by what I had done, and at once 
L fell again into the horrible pit of despair, from which 
there now appears to be no way of ever more escaping. 

'' Heavens ! How nearly I have come to betraying 
myself. How utterly I have allowed myself to be 
deceived by my imagined strength and fortitude. 
What peace is there ever for me again? To remain 
here is inevitable destruction, to go away forever is 
to be most miserable.” 

He was speaking now in an undertone, meditatively, 
as if unconscious of the other’s presence. But sud- 
denly he turned upon David and cried aloud : 

I am not what I appear to be, and I would not 
be what I am. Was ever a human creature more be- 
side himself than that? What do you want with me, 
David Burford? Why have you striven to detain 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 165 

me? Don’t you understand that I want to be free? 
But no, — T shall never be free again! Never, never 
again I Merciful God I Why have I lived to suflfer 
thus?’^ 

With an awful cry of anguish Leon Wheatley stag- 
gered forward and sank into a chair by the broad 
reading-table, where his head fell heavily upon its pol- 
ished surface, his slender frame quivering violently, 
and his hands clutching his hair as if he would tear 
it out. 

David had found it extremely difficult to follow this 
sudden outburst of passion. The rambling sentences, 
incoherent articulation, half-moaning voice was alto- 
gether heart-rending and terrible. He stood riveted 
to the spot, unable for the time to move or speak. 
Never before had he witnessed such an upheaval of 
the human soul. Never had he dreamed that such 
were possible. Yet in that hour his own soul was 
scarcely less turbulent. 

Presently, when he had regained control of his 
muscles, he went and knelt by the suflferer’s side, tears 
of grief and sorrow raining down his face. 

Leon, my boy,'' he said with a hoarse sob, ‘‘ there 
is a Friend who will never prove Himself disloyal and 
unworthv of your confidence and trust as I have done. 
If you cannot let me share your pain you can at all 
events turn to Him and be sure of help and comfort. 
O, will you not let me plead with Him now for you, 
— for us both ? " 

Leon lifted his face, all drawn and rigid, to David's 
tender, pleading one, and said in a rattling whisper : 


A Woman’s Protest. 


1 66 

“ Go, go, go, I say, I can bear no more now. For 
mercy’s sake, go and leave me.” 

Once again his head dropped heavily upon the table 
while a groan of anguish escaped his lips, and so there 
was nothing for David to do but obey his injunction 
and withdraw. 

Softly opening the door leading into the hallway 
David turned to look back. No, he could not go away 
and leave his friend there alone in this plight. With- 
out noise he seated himself near the door and waited, 
nerveless and still watching the waves of convulsion 
that ever and anon swept over the bowed form before 
him. 

Lost to every sense but the present he was suddenly 
aroused by the sound of the hall-clock softly chiming 
the hour of midnight. He started up, thinking with 
some alarm of his mother and sister awaiting anx- 
iously for his return from they knew not where, but 
again he paused irresolutely gazing with apprehen- 
sion at his friend. But duty to his family finally con- 
trolled him, and he very quietly withdrew. 

Taking his hat from the hall-tree, David stole 
softly through the intervening rooms to the kitchen 
from whence, as he drew near, issued the sounds of 
some one still stirring about. Opening the door quietly 
he saw the old negress, who acted in the capacity of 
housekeeper, bending over an old fireplace, a dear 
relic of his own boyhoood days, though a handsome 
cooking-range stood near, covering up a smoukLr- 
ing log with ashes. 

The old woman was dressed in a loose garment of 


The Upheaval of a Soul. 167 

some dark stuff, with a night-cap on her head and a 
blackened clay-pipe between her teeth. 

“ Lor’ ha’ mercy on us ! Is dat you, Mars’ Bur- 
ford ? ” she cried at sight of her visitor, dropping 
her small fire-shovel with a clatter. Her eyeballs 
shone luridly in the firelight and her heavy jaw 
dropped rigidly. She could scarcely have been more 
frightened if she had really seen a ghost. 

Be quiet, Dinah,” said David in an undertone. 
'' Your young master is very ill and in great trouble, 
too, I fear. I dread to leave him, but must return, you 
understand, to my sick mother. Now listen to me, 
Dinah. You must sit up to-night andJ watch over 
your young master. Ble is in the library and for the 
present, at least, I advise you not to disturb him. Go 
at once into the hall and take your seat by the door, 
which I have left ajar, and do not allow yourself to 
sleep a single minute. I tell, you your master is in 
great danger. He may die. Watch him and give him 
assistance when he shows need of it. Take good care 
of him and nurse him all you can to-morrow if — if all 
is well. If I am needed or called for, send for me.” 

Dinah nodded gravely. 

Don’ you fret. Mars’ Burford, I’ll do all you say, 
and I’ll take bes’ kind o’ care o’ dat chile o’ mine. 
Good night, sah, good night.” 

David went out at the kitchen door and mounting 
his impatient steed rode rapidly home in the darkness. 
But the only darkness he was conscious of was in his 
own soul, where a pall had settled that he doubted 
would ever be lifted therefrom again. 


i68 


A Woman’s Protest. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE TRANSFORMATION OF LEON WHEATLEY. 

I RECKON my young Mars’r ain’t gwine ter give 
dis ol’ head a chance to git any sleep dis night,” whis- 
pered Dinah to herself, when the chime of the hall- 
clock striking three aroused her from a forbidden 
doze. She peeped in at the door. Still Leon sat in 
the large library chair, his arms encircled upon the 
table supporting his head and quite hiding his face 
from view. Although he had sat there so perfectly 
motionless for so long Dinah felt that he was not 
asleep, so she made no noise until another hour 
dragged wearily away and the early dawn creeping 
slowly in between the chinks of the curtains gave the 
lamps a sickly glow^ by contrast, like candle-light in 
some dim cathedral. 

At last Leon Wheatley with a long heavy sigh lifted 
his head from the table and leaned back feebly against 
the leather cushions. Then the faithful old negress 
stole softly into .he room and put out the ill-smelling 
lights, saying as she did so : 

Hadn’ you bettah go to you’ bed, Mars’ Wheat- 
ley?” 

'' Why, is that you, Dinah ? ” Leon asked in a weak 
voice. 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 169 

Yass/’ said the old negress as she approached his 
chair, ben settin' up all night waiting fer ye, jus' 
outside the door there." 

Two tears trickled down Leon's pallid cheeks as 
with closed eyes he felt for the black, wrinkled hand. 

“ Heaven bless you, Dinah ! You are a good serv- 
ant to me. But what made you think I would need 
you ? " 

Mars' Burford, he tol’ me you was feelin' poorly 
like, and I reckoned I'd better watch over you a lit- 
tle," replied Dinah, seeking approbation. You'se 
lookin' mightv bad. Mars' Wheatley. Reckon Td 
best take you right up in my arms an' carry you to 
bed like I useter do wid my own childern." 

Leon laughed shortly. 

‘‘ Thank you, Dinah, that will be hardly necessary, 
I think, but as I am v ry weak and worn you may lend 
me your arm and assist me to my room." 

Without further comment Dinah assisted the young 
man to rise and almost carried his slender form to 
his sleeping-apartments, where, after arranging every- 
thing for his comfort, she withdrew, only to return a 
little later with fresh, cool water and perfumed towels 
with which she gently bathed his face and head as he 
lay among the pillows so still and pale, talking as she 
did so in soothing mother-tones until at last he fell 
asleep under the magnetic influence of her gentle 
care. 

Th^ morning was well advanced when Leon awoke, 
and Dinah, who was not far away, came in to wait 
upon him, followed by another servant with a tray 


A Woman’s Protest. 


170 

upon which was a deliciously prepared breakfast. 
Although feeble and much exhausted, Leon was re- 
markably calm, almost cheerful, and though deep 
sighs frequently escaped him, they appeared to ex- 
press more, of relief than sorrow. It was as if during 
those few hours of calm, refreshing sleep the great 
burden of grief and cherished pain, which had weighed 
upon his spirits for so long, had slipped quietly off 
of itself, so that at last his mind was comparatively 
free from worry and strain. 

He ate his breakfast with some relish, and then, 
nestling down once more among the pillows, re- 
quested Dinah to secure them for a time against all 
intrusions, as he had something of importance to say 
to her. Much flattered by this unexpected show of 
confidence, the negress obeyed his request and then 
settled herself beside the bed, her black face beaming 
with eager expectancy. 

What was revealed to the old serving-woman in 
the quiet of that room must certainly have been of a 
remarkable character, for within an hour old black 
Dinah, of her own accord, put her sinewy arms around 
the youthful form and drew the brown head down 
upon her ample shoulder, where Leon indulged in a 
hearty, healthful fit of crying, like a tired and nervous 
child in its mother’s arms, while the old mammy 
soothed, and petted, and laughed and cried by turns. 
It was evident that their relations had suddenly been 
revolutionized to permit of such an unusual pro- 
cedure. 

When at last the weeping was quite over and she 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 171 

had lain Leon back among the pillows, Dinah went 
out and marshaled the house-servants, whom she sent 
singly into Leon's room, where each in turn was given 
definite instructions for the day’s work. 

Within an hour after this, Leon’s private carriage 
was driven up to the door by a liveried coachman, 
and who should take seat therein but Dinah herself, 
dressed in her best black merino, while, with many 
a chuckle and shake of supreme satisfaction at her 
own importance, she was carried rapidly away in the 
direction of the city. Not long after two other serv- 
ants in a light phaeton of more common usaee also 
drove off in some haste along the same well -traveled 
road toward Melbourne. 

Meanwhile things were being turned topsy-turvy 
within the house, and two zealous housemaids were 
flying hither and thither through the cloud of dust 
they appeared to be needlessly raising everywhere at 
once. It was evidently a day for house-cleaning, but 
that there was something a little extraordinary about 
it was patent from the fact that every now and then 
they paused in their flurry to put their heads together 
and converse conjecturally. 

Amid all these unusual events Leon Wheatley still 
lay in the darkened bed-chamber and slept the hours 
peacefullv away. 

In striking contrast to these scenes was the peace 
and quiet that reigned in the home of the Burfords, 
where, for David, the day lagged wearily enough. 
He had spent the few remaining hours of night in bed, 
but utterly without sleep or rest, so that he had arisen 


172 


A Woman’s Protest. 


at dawn utterly unrefreshed and with his mind in a 
chaos of conflicting doubts, anxieties and fears. His 
friendship with Leon Wheatley appeared to him as a 
tangled web, in the strong meshes of which both he 
and Leon were hopelessly implicated. However the 
matter ended, David thought, whether Leon went 
away with his secret buried in his heart or whether 
he remained and strove to live on as before, their 
relations had received too severe a strain, he was sure, 
to ever perrnit of entire healing and restoration. 

Yet David continually felt himself asking the why 
of it all. Why should he be so deeply wounded with 
another’s sorrows, which were in no true sense his 
own? Why should he love any one so ardently as he 
honestly confessed to himself that he did this most 
remarkable young man? 

On the other hand it was not without its consola- 
tions to know that in some subtle manner David’s 
wholesome influence had wrought some indescribable 
effect upon this young person’s mind. Was it in any 
way characterizing his present strange conduct, 
David wondered? This was a new thought to him, 
and awakened a chain of uneasy conjectures which 
it staggered him to contemplate. Could it be prob- 
able that for any reason Leon Wheatley was going 
away to escape his association? If so, what could 
possibly be that reason? 

Some way this idea clung to his mind, causing him 
so much disturbance that all that morning he roamed 
about restlessly, unable to set himself contentedly at 
any task. 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 173 

Mabel was engaged with her tutor and Mrs. Bur- 
ford was entertaining callers, so he was not much 
needed by them. Learning at luncheon that the call- 
ers, who had come some distance, had been prevailed 
upon to spend the day with his mother, David resolved 
to make good his escape, so, early in the afternoon 
he drove down to the city, hoping thereby to di- 
vert his thoughts and shorten the hours of a weary 
da3^ 

He soon met with some lively young friends who 
rallied him somewhat satirically upon his melancholy 
appearance, and to take the glumness out of him car- 
ried him ofif gaily to their club, where they detained 
him to a grand dinner to be given that evening. Al- 
though David was not specially prepared for such an 
event he made but feeble resistance, being in reality 
only- too glad of the pleasant diversity it offered. 

Returning rather late that evening he mused on the 
way over the long, happy letter he had taken from the 
post-office that day, from his sister Nell, whose stu- 
dent life in Paris was giving her immense satisfac- 
tion. At the door of his home young Mabel greeted 
him rather anxiously. 

O David, we thought you would never come. 
Mother has been worrying about you. Come at once 
and let her know what has kept you so late, you 
naughty boy,’’ she exclaimed, pinching his ear play- 
fully, as he bent down to kiss her. But stay, there 
is a note here for you, delivered some three hours ago 
by one of Mr. Wheatley’s servants. He said, too, it 
was something urgent, but I had to tell him you were 


174 


A Woman’s Protest. 


not at home. Til go and tell mother you have come^ 
while you read your note.” 

David was glad to be left alone at that critical mo- 
ment, for his hand trembled so much that he could 
hardly break the peculiar seal which Leon always 
used on his letters. He dreaded to read the contents, 
yet knew not what it was he had to dread. The brief 
note, penned in Leon's own graceful ponograph, read 
as follows : 

David Burford : 

Will you come over to see me this evening? It is 
a. matter of importance, — at least to me. In fact, the 
matter of bidding you a long good-by. 

Leon Wheatley.” 

David was at once thrown into a fever of intense 
excitement. He did not know, of course, just what 
the note signified, yet he felt in it crisis and suffering 
of some kind, aside from the pain of parting. He ran 
up to his mother's room and handed her his sister 
Nell's letter, saying as he did so, 

“ I must go over to Leon Wheatley's, Another, and it 
may be very late when I return. I told you last night, 
you know, that the poor fellow was ill, — and he has 
sent for me.'' 

David bent quickly to kiss his mother good-by, and, 
by that action hoping to hide his gathering tears-. At 
the door of her room he turned back involuntarily, 
and met from her eyes a strange look of mingled anx- 
iety and eager wistfulness over which he puzzled as he 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 175 

hastened to the stable, where he saddled his riding- 
horse and set off at a quick gallop, his mind in a daze 
of confusion, fear and doubt. 

It was now after eleven o’clock, and he feared lest 
Leon would have given up hope of his coming; but 
no, he was not too late, for the lights still shone 
clearly from the house-windows, sending out long 
yellow rays from between the chinks of the cur- 
tains. 

The night was dark and a raw, chilly wind was 
blowing, not at all in keeping with the season of the 
year, so that Leon’s pretty home with its ruddy glow 
of lamps never looked outwardly more inviting to 
David than when that night he rode into the yard and 
dismounted on the driveway, where he tarried a few 
moments before entering the house in order to brace 
his shaken nerves for the coming interview and its 
results ; for the doubtful and uncertain is ever more 
to be dreaded then any certainty, no matter how ap- 
palling that certainty may be. 

His ring at the door-bell was promptly answered 
by Dinah, who, without other comment than a simple 
greeting, ushered him into the parlor and closed the 
door softly behind him. There was no one but him- 
self in the room, and he walked slowly to the farther 
end of it and back again, trying the while to analyze 
the peculiar sensations that his environments pro- 
duced upon him the moment he entered. The room 
itself was different, somehow. Even the atmosphere 
seemed changed. A low fire burned in the little grate 
at the end of the room farthest from the door, and 


176 A Woman’s Protest. 

while that was out of the ordinary, to be sure, it was 
quite in keeping with the sudden fall in temper- 
ature. 

The handsome rosewood table that occupied a place 
a little left of the center of the room, and which was 
usually piled with books and bric-a-brac, had been 
cleared of all but two objects, a copy of Leon’s book 
and a cut-glass vase filled with exquisite red roses. 
David observed the roses in some surprise. He 
thought he had never seen such rare beauties before, 
and he could not help wondering a little where Leon 
could have procured them. 

Presently, to his greater surprise, he observed that 
a beautiful trailing plant, whose delicate tendrils had 
been skilfu'ly torn from the trellis where it had been 
clinging ever since David first visited his friend’s 
pretty conservatory, had been transferred to this room 
where it drooped in graceful masses and long swing- 
ing sprays over the frame of a large oil-painting, a 
particular favorite of David’s. 

Within the depths of this heavily carved frame 
might be seen two lovers, who with frightened looks, 
as if fleeing from some unwelcome pursuers, had taken 
refuge in the chancel of a dim old cathedral. The girl, 
with rich garments sadly torn, and with long dark 
locks hanging loose and disheveled, knelt in anxious 
supplication on the steps of the altar, while the hand- 
some lover, his velvet cloak bespattered and soiled, 
stood beside her, a threatening frown on his averted 
face and a hand on his half-drawn sword, as if ready 
to shield the girl at all hazards. The tempestuous 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 177 

scene had always had a charm for David, and now as 
he stood before it he felt a sudden thrill of unwonted 
emotion, for, draped with those heavy vines as if to 
woo his attention, the picture appeared to have some 
significant message for him, a kind of prophetic warn- 
ing which just eluded his mental grasp. 

At last he turned away haif-impatient with the sense 
of uneasiness which he could not shake oflf, and which 
the picture before him had served to heighten. There 
was nothing to be nervous about, he felt sure. He 
would sit down and wait. But why did not Leon put 
in his appearance? He had never kept David wait- 
ing this long before. And to-night it was late, and 
Leon had expressly desired to see him. 

How silent the house was. He had not heard a 
sound within save his own footsteps since Dinah 
closed that door. Not a voice in the hall, not a serv- 
ant's laugh or jest. The hour was late, to be sure, 
— the more reason that, he thought, why he should not 
be kept waiting. 

To David's quickened sensibilities there appeared to 
be an air of suspense about everything. Those roses ! 
How exquisite they were ! But their perfurne was 
rather stifling, the atmosphere was heavy with their 
fragrance. The heat, too, from the smouldering fire 
was becoming oppressive. He thought it would be 
well to admit a little fresh air. He crossed the floor 
again, and drawing aside the rich velvet draperies, he 
unlatched the long French window and pushed it 
open a little. How good that breath of cool, moist air 
felt upon his heated brow and cheeks ! He did not 
12 


178 A Woman^s Protest. 

know the room had grown so uncomfortably warm ; 
no wonder he had felt faint and nervous. 

Without the scene was a wondrous one. The black 
clouds were breaking away at last and flying swiftly 
toward the east in a wild, weird sort of way, and 
through their filmy vapors shimmered an occasional 
star. The soft winds and the glorious view wooed 
him irresistibly. Dropping the curtain behind him, he 
stepped out upon the narrow balcony which was raised 
a short distance from the ground by the foundation- 
wall, and under which lay a flower-bed which sent up 
delicate odors from its wind-tossed blossoms. 

David felt his spirits reviving as he drew in deep 
draughts of the delicious night air, and gazed on those 
tossing, hurrying clouds that in some way seemed 
to fit into his mood. How long he had stood there he 
could not have told, when the door of the parlor 
opened softly, rather timidly, much as Dinah was wont 
to open it. Thinking it was only the old negress he 
felt a little impatient and did not turn toward the 
room at once. But presently he heard a light, hesi- 
tating footfall that was not Dinah's, and the soft in- 
describable rustle of a woman's silken skirts. 

Quickly then he drew back the curtain, stepped half- 
over the narrow sill and paused in the window-frame, 
breathless, statuesque, silent, struck dumb with amaze- 
ment, wonder and awe. Did his eyes deceive him? 
Was he becoming demented by the undue strain of the 
last few weeks? Was it only hallucination or was 
this vision of loveliness that seemed to float before 
him a spirit from Paradise? His brain reeled, and to 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 17^ 

his dazed ferceptions the lovely object before him 
appeared to float in mid-air. Never before had his 
eyes beheld such a sight, but whether real or imagin- 
ary he could not at that moment decide. 

That pa^e spirituelle face, so sweetly sad, that form 
of willowy grace with its calm dignity of motion, was 
the personification of Raphael’s loveliest Madonna, 
and David’s soul was ravished by what his vision 
beheld. 

The beautiful being had paused a little beyond the 
closed door in a bewildered sort of- way like some 
wandering visitant from another world who would 
fain inquire the whereabouts of its presence. Then 
with more composure, though with a swift sigh, the 
woman (for it was a woman, David was assured of 
that now) advanced slowly, hesitatingly, one white 
jeweled hand pressed close against her heaving 
bosom as if to stifle some great pain. Around her 
slender form hung the soft folds of a long loose robe 
of sky-tinted pink, half-smothered in rich cascades of 
filmy silken lace which gave her the cloud-like airiness 
of some ethereal sprite, rather than a human being. 

Her beautiful head was crowned by a wealth of soft 
chestnut curls that caressed a high, pale forehead, 
half hid a shell-like ear and clustered flower-like about 
the delicate white neck, while half-buried among the 
ringlets nestled a circlet of sparkling jewels that shed 
a gloriole of light about her brow, thus enhancing her 
Madonna-like appearance. As if in a trance David 
gazed at the vision before him and moved as it moved 
without knowing it, until by the time the fair being 


i8o A Woman’s Protest. 

had passed with swan-like grace to the end of the 
room David himself was standing near the center of 
it, his mind in a chaos of incredulity, wonder and sur- 
prise. 

Who could it be, he marveled, in a bewildered sort 
of way, that Leon had sent in to him in this abrupt 
fashion? Was it wife, sister or sweetheart? Where 
was Leon anyhow? Why did he not come and re- 
lieve him of this awkward situation? 

The object of his astonishment and adoration had 
reached the hearth-rug where the shaded lamplight 
around her and the dying firelight behind blended 
into a most grotesque background for David’s glori- 
fied vision, and while it subdued it did not detract, but 
rather served to make more lovely. Here for the first 
time she appeared to grow conscious of his presence, 
and turning squarely around on the hearth-rug she 
looked straight and full into his eyes, with a curious 
mingling of fear, honest appeal and reproachful de- 
fiance, a look with which Leon had lately become so 
familiar that he was startled. Suddenly she threw out 
her hands half-pleadingly, while from her lips, white 
now with suppressed emotion, there escaped a peculiar 
sharp little cry. 

At sound of that voice David started forward, 
swayed uncertainly and grasped the tall back of a 
quaint old chair in time to support his trembling limbs 
that almost sank from beneath him. 

Leon ! ” he gasped, as if the word had been wrung 
from his lips, though his mind resented the suggestion 
it inferred. 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley, i8i 

'' Yes, it is Leon,’' was the ready answer. Ah, 
David Burford, you have been horribly, wretchedly, 
meanly deceived. The Leon you have learned to love 
'has never had an existence. He was a myth, a cheat, 
a mere dressed-up sham. And now the Leon that 
existed in your ima.gination is banished forever, for I 
have come to tell you so. And what am I, you may 
ask. Only a wretched woman ; a nameless, loveless, 
doomed and lost woman. I have been sent, like a 
sexton, to dig for you a grave fathoms deep in which 
to bury every memory of that once-loved friend, Leon 
Wheatley.” 

Then turning her pallid face from the astonished 
gaze with which David contemplated her, and with 
rapid and unstudied eloquence, she told him all that 
she had steeled her heart to reveal. Not an interval 
did she allow for answering words. She was deter- 
mined that he should hear her story ere she took leave 
of him once for all. Not so much for her own sake, 
however, as for his. Not so much in her own vindi- 
cation as in his behalf, that he may know whereof he 
has been deceived. 

Illusions long indulged in oft become very dear 
things, she tells him, and she doubts not it will cost 
some pangs of regret for him to relinquish this one 
at which she has but now struck the death-blow. But 
ah, far more the sufferer is she who is also the sinner 
and who must endure the penalty of that sin through 
all Eternity, maybe. 

He must not consider that he alone, however, has 
been the victim of hugging a chimera, for she herself 


1 82 A Woman's Protest. 

has only succeeded in tearing a far greater one than 
his, root and branch, from out her heart, where she 
has foolishly nourished it until Reason at last asserted 
itself and forced her to relinquish her fond fancies, 
to tear up this precious thing she has loved and fos- 
tered, and to crush its glad life out. And now the sad 
ghost of it has arisen to haunt and torture her soul 
with the dreadful consciousness that it will live for her 
never, never again. 

And this is the horror that has lived with her like 
some hideous, long-drawn-out nightmare while David 
has been pleading so loyally, so tenderly to be allowed 
to share the sorrows of his friend. Well, now he has 
a sorrow of his own to weep for. When the first shock 
of surprise is over tears of regret and self-pity will 
doubtless come to him. But there will be no bitterness 
in them, they will be kindly and will wash away in 
their ebbing tide all those too dear memories. Yet he 
can probably never quite forget that out of his pleas- 
ing dream there arose the somber shadow of a name- 
less being ; one who at one time was proud to call her- 
self a woman, and a wife, strong in that grand sense 
of unapproachable honor that both of these terms sig- 
nalize. But her pride of the name that rightfully 
belonged to her was dragged in the dust of odium ; — 
tears would not wash away her stains nor purify her 
soul of pollution. Therefore he must not curse with- 
out pity, nor pass too hasty judgment without first 
hearing something of her history. 

Once, as she told him, she was an honored woman, 
— proud and noble and pure. By her husband him- 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 183 

self and no other was that purity defiled. By him 
were all the sacred prerogatives of her womanhood 
abused, every holy instinct crushed, and the sweet 
chastity she felt was her most glorious virtue humili- 
ated and abased. Not openly, as a woman loses all 
who barters with her virtue, but “ quietly, honorably, 
respectfully, lawfully,'' if you please, under the cruel 
yoke of marriage bonds which she had taken upon 
herself all innocent of their awful meaning, while she 
as a wife had no respectable alternative but to submit 
herself to her husband according to the demands of 
moral law and popular custom. 

And that husband, a just and honorable man in the 
estimate of the world, yet recognized no justice, and 
knew no uprightness in his demands upon the pure- 
minded, innocent girl to whom he had given his name. 
A girl whose most morbid imaginings had never 
shadowed the hideous realities that marriage unfolded 
to her mortified senses and against which every drop 
of her heart's blood had seemed to boil with rebellion 
and revolt. 

O, Heaven ! That there had been no strong-armed 
angel to reach out from the unseen realms in time to 
have stayed her hand from unwittingly slaughtering 
all her finest instincts and innocent virginity upon the 
smoking marriage altar of human sacrifice, before 
which she so trustingly lisped her life-long fidelity and 
obedience to the man who had won her love. 

When Death at last had severed the welded chain 
that had held her in mutinous bondage, and had taken 
put of her life^ as only Death could do, the man whpse 


184 


A Woman's Protest. 


baseness had turned her trusting love into contempt- 
uous loathing, she had yet felt that she was not free. 
She was still the slave of widowhood, that market on 
which the world puts all widows as once again for 
sale to the highest bidder; and haunted also by awful 
memories she had felt that nothing could save her 
from herself save a complete change, a revolution. 
The personality she wore had been so defiled, so pol- 
luted, that she had become a constant reproach unto 
herself. At last, with desperate resolution, she had 
lain aside all resemblance to the injured woman whom 
she was, and had taken on the lineaments of a new 
being and become subject to a new code of laws, which 
in the very nature of their construction gave her 
measurable liberty to live out the rest of her existence 
as it pleased her. 

In the midst of the great wide ocean that tells no 
secrets, nor ever gives up its dead, she had buried her 
old self with all its painful memories, so far as that 
were possible, and coming to this far-away land she 
had tried, out of the remnant that was left her of a 
disappointed life, to create new environments for her- 
seT in which she might be relatively happy and com- 
paratively free. 

And she had been happy. Yes, far beyond her ex- 
pectations. Her life, to be sure, had been necessarily 
exclusive. The world about her had observed, but 
was not sufficiently interested to question as to the 
cause of her isolation, but had given her that ex- 
quisite liberty and independence of thought and action 
which is only conceded to that part of humanity whose 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 185 

semblance, for her own personal interests, she had 
dared to assume. 

Yes, she had been happy, but only at a sacrifice 
after all. Her nature craved human companionship 
and social intercourse which was necessarily denied 
her if she wished to retain her relations to the world 
in this guise. But David had come as if providentially 
sent to fill that need in her life, and had imposed upon 
her his trustful, loving companionship, as a free-will 
offering; asking nothing in return, taking cheerfully 
such crumbs of civility as she had deemed it only safe 
to give him, even when her heart had throbbed with 
gratitude and sincere affection toward him. So noble 
he had always been to her, so respectful of her re- 
serve and chilliness, so unsuspecting of her real self, 
that she had at last been thrown off her guard and 
had ventured to let him creep his way into her life that 
her hungering soul might be allowed one morsel of 
human sympathy to feed upon. 

But oh, for her weakness and folly ! She who had 
deemed that every sentiment of passion was wholly 
dead within her! She who had flattered herself of 
strength surpassing that of most other women mani- 
fest in her at all times, and more so now when she 
had passed through the fires of affliction, and drank 
the bitter cup of surpassing sorrow and disappoint- 
ment ! Even she had allowed David to fill her 
thoughts until the woman's soul within her had been 
stirred to depths it had not dreamed of before, and 
had awakened all the unutterable yearnings of a heart 
that had at last found its own affinity, until every part 


1 86 


A Woman’s Protest. 


of her being had been stirred and invigorated by this 
new life, so that her pulses throbbed at his approach 
and the touch of his finger-tips was exquisite madness. 

She paused at last for an instant in her 
strange confession to glance furtively at tlxe 
motionless figure before her at whom thus far 
she had scarcely dared to look, and was astonished 
at the sight of his staring, bewildered gaze as he 
looked fixedly into her face, motionless, statuesque 
and without uttering one monosyllable of condemna- 
tion or otherwise. The expression of his countenance 
maddened her. She felt that his mind was afar oflf. 
Has he failed to understand the meaning of her hor- 
rible confession? Does he not guess? Must she be 
punished by repeating every iota of her shame? She 
struggled for a moment speechless, choked and 
clutched at her throat convulsively, and looked down 
with a piteous glance into the stony, pitiless face of 
him who sat before her, all her tender nature grovel- 
ing in the dust of hopeless mortification and self- 
abnegation, firm in the conviction of his hatred for 
her long-practised deceit, and in the belief that he wih 
absoutely loathe her for this final disclosure of her 
passionate love. A belief easily corroborated by the 
speechless astonishment and inexplicable gaze of the 
man before her. 

'' You need not burden yourself with fears of 
further annoyance and discomfort by my presence,'’ 
she finally managed to say, her voice muffled and thick 
with the inexpressible pain she was enduring. I am 
going away soon, — quite soon, I have a little girl 


The Transformation of Leon WheatIe5^ 187 

back there in America, and every night I feel in my 
dreams the impress of her clinging arms around 
me, and her pitiful cries of ' Mama, Mama/ She 
needs me, I know, and I am going back to give her the 
poor ragged remnant of my life. Do not think I ex- 
pect any mercy from you, nor anything, in fact, but 
sincere disgust and antipathy, which is all I deserve, 
yet I cannot refuse the impulse to tell you the whole 
truth to-night. Listen, David Burford, and hear me. 
I love you to-night as I love my ozvn soul. Yes, know- 
ing what I have known, this is my sin, that I have let 
myself fall deliberately in love with you, who have 
loved me only as a brother, a friend. What, are you 
dreaming? Do vou not hear me? Nay, but you shall 
hear me, — David, — David Burford ! / love yon to- 

night as I love my own soul.'' 

With a sudden swaying gesture she turned and the 
arms that had been upstretched, with tensely clinched 
fingers, dropped upon the mantel and the lovely head 
fell upon them, while hard, dry, soundless sobs shook 
her slight frame as if she shivered with severe cold. 

Save for the sound of her convulsive breathing, all 
was silent for a few moments. In the little grate 
below the mantel only a dull-red heap of embers re- 
mained, now whitening with ashes. The roses in the 
cut-g’ass vase still sent out their exquisite perfume. 
And the hall clock alone had power to break the still- 
ness as in response to its duty it faithfully chimed 
the hour of two. 

The woman certainly had no correct idea of the ef- 
fect her words had produced upon David. With her, 


i88 


A Woman’s Protest. 


it had long been a foregone conclusion that one of 
his exquisite sensibilities and aesthetic virtues could 
only look with horror upon a woman who would so 
far relinquish her natural responsibilities as to assume 
the personality of the opposite sex. He could only 
be righteously wrathful toward one who would so de- 
ceive him by receiving his confidence and allowing 
of that intimate association only permissible with 
those of one's own kind. But she, on her part, being 
only a woman after all, could not be truly conscious of 
the emotions that even a heart of stone would have 
felt, of admiration, even passion, at sight of one pos- 
sessing her loveliness and grace. 

She had long since forgotten that she was beautiful. 
She had felt no pride to-night when with utter resig- 
nation to her self-imposed atonement she had put on 
the garments that Dinah had chosen, with her own 
taste and good sense, as befitting the rank and beauty 
of her youthful mistress ; and had impassively allowed 
the delighted old woman to dress and adorn entirely 
to her own taste, while she severely studied herself 
in the pier-glass with only one thought in her mind, 
— was there that in her which would win justice, if 
not forgiveness, and let her feel that she was not ut- 
terly loathed and repelled by the man for whom her 
heart felt such exquisite passion? Yet she dared not 
expect much, and in risking this disclosure for the 
forlorn hope she did feel, she knew that she was for- 
ever sacrificing her richly-won freedom. That was 
the hardest of all. 

Dazed and bewildered, as if transported in some 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 189 

vague and mystic dream, David's mind had been slow 
to comprehend the tremendous fact that this glorious 
image of womanhood who stood so tall and fragile, 
like a fair lily on a slender stem, was in reality the 
Leon Wheatley of yesterday, that eccentric youth to 
whom he had felt himself so irresistibly attracted 
from their first meeting, and for whom he had grown 
to feel an attachment wholly inexplicable to him, and 
which he instinctively felt was a part of some inde- 
finable mystery that as yet he could not solve. But 
now, when at last the truth fairly dawned upon him, 
there came with it such a mad rush of conflicting emo- 
tions that his mind was rendered chaotic, incapable of 
connected thought or reasoning and he found himself 
utterly unable to speak or move, or do aught but to 
gaze rapturously, passionately upon this wonderful 
vision of loveliness before his eyes, at sight of which 
the very foundations of his soul had been shaken. 

She spoke, and her voice sounded in his ears like 
the soft music of hidden waterfalls, but he could not 
fully sense what she was trying to tell him, only he 
felt an unfathomable melancholy settling over him, 
because of some minor note in the music to which his 
ravished ears were listening. His reason was sway- 
ing between the real and the unreal and what he heard 
sounded to him rather like sweetly spoken messages 
lisped from her lips in the language of some other 
world than the hideous reality that it was. The in- 
fluences that had gained control of him were irresist- 
ible, but so agreeable withal that he would not have 
shaken them off if he could, 


A Woman’s Protest. 


190 

Presently as he listened and gazed on the pensive, 
mobile features, the gently swaying form, his flesh be- 
gan to tingle with exquisite pain. Everything within 
the room — even the walls themselves — appeared to be 
moving slowly, majestically around this one central 
figure. 

The wan light of the fire and the shaded rose-tints 
of the lamplight melted slowly into a diffusive ether, 
permeated by golden shafts of light that seemed to 
emanate from the radiant form of the woman, whose 
shimmering garments were of dazzling brightness. 

He felt his pulses throb and his temples pain him 
fearfully, yet the trance of ecstasy was upon him and 
he was powerless to move or resist. Presently the 
ethereal atmosphere about the figure took on tender 
hues, like those of a new-born day. The spirit-figure 
rose as on a cloud and floated all pink and white, like 
a morning mist. 

But why in all patience did his head pain so, — some- 
how he could not see clearly ; a thin, gray cloud was 
spreading itself between him and the glorious vision. 
He tried to speak out, but could not, though he could 
still hear the far-away music of her voice, like vanish- 
ing waves on a distant shore. She was going away 
from him, going — going. Was he then to lose sight 
of this seraph of the skies in this cruel manner, un- 
able to speak or reply to its messages? He strained 
all his energy in one mighty effort to break the half- 
swooning spell that held him, — and the mist suddenly 
cleared. The woman in the pink and white cloud 
turned upon him ; her eyes, like glowing coals, burned 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 191 

down into his very soul. The voice he heard was no 
longer the even monotone of rippling waters, no longer 
sweet and musical in his ears. It was an agonized, 
despairing human cry like one who would call some 
dear and lost one out of the last embraces of Death's 
dull sleep. 

David — David Burford ! I love you to-night as I 
love my own soul." 

And David awoke from his dream. 

This much if no more he had heard and understood. 
He was quite himself now, clear to think and to know 
what those thrilling words meant, and they were like 
a torch of flame touched to his passions which from 
henceforth must burn in a consuming fire, burning 
out the dross and scoria of his nature in its refining 
power. Again the transport of ecstasy almost con- 
quered him, but he threw it off with an effort and stag- 
gered to his feet from the chair into which he had 
sunk; but that strange darkness again covered his 
eyes, this time thick and dense, and when it cleared 
again a moment later the woman was moving slowly 
across the room toward the door, with drooping head, 
a face haggard and rigid as chiseled marble, a halting 
step with hands clutched over her heart as if some 
great pain were threatening to crush out her life-force. 

‘‘ Leon ? " 

David at last found strength to utter once more that 
single syllable, in the interval of which the magic of 
that name had carried him through ages of supreme 
emotion, more than he could have experienced ordi- 
narily in a lifetime. 


192 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Leon?^^ 

The woman paused but turned not. She seemed 
startled, hurt, wounded beyond endurance. 

O Leon, my friend ! ” 

There was a wonderful power of appeal in that cry. 
Yet apprehension, fear, doubt and distrust were all 
apparent in its sighing cadence. At least, so she read 
it. 

Yes, yes, I know ail you feel. But I am going 
away from you. I will not suffer to impose my pres- 
ence on you long. I am going away from you. I 
say, — going. Good night.’’ 

Such a tired voice, so weary. So weary of hoping, 
suffering, sorrowing, despairing. Like a tired child, 
life’s toys no longer amused her. She was ready to 
throw them all away forever, and lay herself down 
to sleep, to sleep always. 

Good night,” said the same appealing voice as she 
turned near the door for a last farewell look into the 
face of him to whom she had humbled herself, — in 
vain ? 

But David, who had followed her mechanically, sud- 
denly dropped at her feet, and clasped his arms im- 
petuously about her knees, impeding her further 
progress. 

Leon, O Leon, is it reahy yourself ? Kind God ! 
How could I guess it, or believe it even when you told 
me ? I thought you were an angel of light, Leon ! 
And even yet you are not real to me, but more like the 
spirit of my trance. Speak to me quickly. Wake 
me again with those burning words you spoke just 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 193 

now. Tell me you are mortal. Touch me with your 
warm hands, your lips, if you are human, like myself, 
and no returned spirit. Leon, Leon, don’t you under; 
stand ? I love you, Angel. Ah ! Good Heavens ! 
How I love you. 1 feel as if I were being swept away 
in a great ocean of thick, warm blood. I am choking, 
sinking, drowning. Speak to me, Leon, speak and 
tell me as you did but now that you love me ? Say, is 
it true, is it true ? 

Over the woman had swept the same rushing tide 
of emotion. So unexpected was this great answering 
love, where she had honestly looked tor nothing but 
aversion and disgust, that she could not comprehend 
it all at once. She tried faintly to push him away 
from her, but he half rose and with arms encircling 
her waist only clung the closer, with his upturned face 
shining with joyous rapture, and with tears stream- 
ing from his half-closed eyes, his blanched lips quiver- 
ing with ecstasy, until she could no lonp-er doubt that 
the depths of this great, gentle, loyal soul had been 
stirred with a passionate love for her as deeply as hers 
had been for him. 

The sudden joy of it overwhelmed her. She could 
not speak, but resisting no longer his ardent embrace 
she pushed her burning fingers through his hair, while 
her hot, dry lips pressed close upon his forehead. 
Then presently she felt all her strength leaving her; 
in an instant she swayed backward, and David spring- 
ing to his feet was just quick enough to support her 
unconscious form against his own breast, where he 
covered her beautiful pale face with the first kisses his 

13 


194 


A Woman's Protest. 


pure lips had ever pressed upon any woman's brow 
other than that of his sainted mother and gentle 
sisters. 

Carried in his willing arms she was at first barely 
conscious of his ardent lips pressing her cheeks, her 
mouth, her hair, which act of itself served to deepen 
the swoon into which this reversion of her emotions 
had driven her, so that many of those most precious 
moments of her life were utterly lost to her. 

When at last, under David’s hasty restorative meas- 
ures, she regained her consciousness, she found that 
she was reclining at ease on a couch with David’s en- 
raptured face still bending over her, eagerly watching 
for the first signs of returning life. 

How like a part of herself he seemed, as by a, com- 
mon impulse their lips met for the first time in a 
tender kiss, that seemed to draw her who^.e soul out to 
meet his, in response to this blissful requital of pure 
and perfect love. 

But the thrill of ravished joy that she felt tingling 
through them both ended for her in a shudder of 
horror and dismay. Again despair swept for one 
brief moment over her soul. 

You forget,” she exclaimed, feebly pushing him 
away from her, all the terrible things I have just 
narrated to you about myself. I am hardly the 
woman with whom you would care to continue in such 
close relationship. Therefore it is wrong for us to 
indulge at all. Not that I have been wilfully guilty of 
any wrong-doing in tne past experiences of which I 
have told you, but I have indeed been much sinned 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 195 

against, and have had to suffer the inevitable con- 
sequences/’ 

David’s face wore a puzzled expression as he passed 
his hand retrospectively across nis forehead. 

‘‘ Let me see/’ he said slowly. You were trying 
to tell me sometlfing that you wished me to know, and 
that you think would interfere with this new-found 
happiness of mine? Forgive me then, for I do not 
appear to remember. I must have been dreaming, for 
surely I thought you were a heavenly seraph, and I 
was too entranced with your loveliness to hear or 
understand much of what you said. It was only when 
you cried out your love for me that I was awakened 
by that cry to the sublime realities of the present hour. 
The rest was evidently lost upon me, — and yet ? ” — he. 
paused as if puzzled. 

‘‘ Ah, yes,” was the bitter reply, ‘‘ you have heard 
me. Something tells me that though you listened so 
abstractedly all will come back to you in a little time, 
when you are calm and alone. And then, ah, then it 
will be worse for me than if you had known and 
felt all I am sure you will feel, before we tasted this 
gilded fruit that is bound to prove bitter at its core.” 

‘‘ Nay, I do not think that this will be so. Even 
though I do not recall your confession, whatever it 
was, and methinks I can guess at it vaguely even now, 
I shall not really care, nor will it alter this beautiful 
new relationship between us. We seem to have 
crossed some dark river together, and now that we are 
on another side, in a most lovely country, we wi.l 
certainly not look back, nor turn again to that land 


A Woman's Protest, 


196 

we have left. I am sure whatever imperfections have 
been with you in the past, that this which I see now 
and hold in my arms at this moment is your true self, 
and as in my dreams I saw you, so I am convinced 
you are in reality a pure, radiant soul, inhabiting for 
a time a marvelously beautiful temple. Those ex- 
quisite charms that I saw in my vision but now be- 
long to you and are the imperishable, immortal part 
of yourself, and ever more the dazzling whiteness and 
exquisite loveliness of your soul will be visible to me 
in your personality. So real to me is this ethereal 
vision of yourself that I almost feel you must be a 
spirit and will presently leave me here alone in mortal 
guise and float away to your own heavenly home. If 
you too are mortal, and not the beautiful spirit I 
almost fear you are, tell me again that you love me, 
tell me in every kind of language you know how to 
express that my soul may be satisfied that this new 
joy is for me, here upon earth, and mine to keep and 
to hold forever.'' 

She could not resist this great pure-hearted love, 
gushing forth from a nature as free from guile as that 
of a trusting child. She had never experienced such 
joy and satisfaction of soul as his embraces afforded. 
Her heart was truly his, and it was evident that she 
was the light of his new life, which had as he had said 
suddenly appeared out of the old, bevond the dark 
river of misunderstanding, mystery and doubt. In 
this love, too, there was nothing selfish, nothing base, 
nothing to make her half-shrink with fear and unde- 
finable dread even as that other love had done in the 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 197 

ardor of first expression. Surely such a love as this 
was natural and desirable, and she yielded without 
more fears to his joyous caresses, and returned them, 
too, in full measure with a freedom and simplicity of 
expression which, had David but known it, not many 
women were capable of giving. But from this woman 
there was nothing hidden, and in this man not one un- 
holy or undesirable yearning. 

The stars in a clear sky were fading in the light 
of early dawn when the love-crowned woman said 
with a little happy laugh, and yet with something of 
the old asperity of manner, You must go now. It 
is the dawn of a new day, David. O, what a bright 
day it will be for me. But you must leave me now, 
for soon you will be needed at home.'’ 

Her own words caused her to suddenly shrink with 
the birth in her soul of a fearful doubt, almost 
amounting to the old despair, as she realized that this 
involution of her life with his would mean something 
to others as well as to David and herself. Thus far 

she had been absorbed only in him, but now 

O, David, what of your mother ? " she cried in 
dismay. What — oh, what will she say of this, of 
me? You have been so quick to forgive, so glad of 
me, so liberal in your conception of my motives, but 
she? Ah, you do not know how unyielding women 
are toward their own sex, so critical of their propriety, 
so rigid in their morals for her and for themselves. 
What more natural than that her gentle soul will be 
horrified by my daring to mask in the guise I have 
worn in your presence all this time? How will she 


198 


A Woman’s Protest. 


look upon my deception with anything but the sever- 
est judgment? How she will detest me for the un- 
womanly part I have played ! O, David, David, it is 
not for me to know any lasting happiness. This 
surely will terminate all my sudden joy. Go home, 
David, and tell her not. Only tell her I have gone far 
away where none of you shall ever see me more. 
Perhaps in Eternity she will be able to behold us 
united with some charity of spirit for my sins. But 
not here. No, she will never do that here.'’ 

With a sudden exclamation, David sprang to his 
feet. 

“Upon my honor!" he ejaculated, facing the agi- 
tated woman before him, “ I do believe that from the 
very first of our acquaintance that shrewd little 
mother of mine has penetrated your disguise, I do 
indeed." 

But the other shook her head dubiously. 

“I cannot believe that," she replied, “ else she would 
never have been so kind to me." 

“ That’s just the proof of the problem," David re- 
phed triumphantly. “ I never knew her to take such 
an inordinate interest in any one as she has in you 
from the first time she saw you, — that memorable 
Christmas-day, you remember. And she has shown 
such solicitude about you always, and has encouraged 
my attachment to you (which I, myself, did not un- 
derstand) in a way that has puzzled me often. 

“ Why, yes, the more I think of it the more firmly 
convinced do I become that her tender mother-heart 
has read your sorrowful secret, and has most probably 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 199 

even guessed the cause, and felt nothing but tender 
pity for you, for that she has felt both love and sympa- 
thy for you I am very sure. If such be the case, we 
may rest assured she will receive you with open arms ; 
perhaps she is even now longing to enfold you in her 
tender, loving sympathies, for I know she loves you ; 
in a thousand ways she has shown it. She has 
guessed the truth, I am convinced, but I, ah, I was too 
dull to reach out for the rich joy that lay always just 
within my reach.'’ 

He was suddenly interrupted by a low ripple of 
laughter. It startled him. Never before had he seen 
those grave lips part in anything more than a wan 
smile. 

'' Be not so sure of that," she replied archly. '' I 
loved my newly-found freedom too well to fall in- 
stantly into the charms of your society. That was 
something that grew upon me, and though slowly I 
resisted it to the very last. But now that is over, I 
resist no longer. I fully believe that I too shall know 
some joy and satisfaction in loving, and in that perfect 
union of soul that our emotions to-night would appear 
to prophesy." 

She had risen, and unresistingly she allowed him 
to fold her in his arms and press her close to his 
bosom. 

'' O, my darling ! " he whispered passionately. 
Queen of my heart ! how can I believe that all this 
joy I feel will really last? As I embrace you, — so, 
and lay your warm fingers against my lips, — thus, I 
feel as if I would never dare to leave your presence 


200 


A Woman’s Protest. 


lest you fade away like the rapturous vision of my 
dreams just now. But I shall try to believe, even 
when I go away, that you are still human, that you are 
still Leon. 

“ Ah, that reminds me. It is of little consequence, 
but I suppose your name is not Leon Wheatley after 
all. That name is endeared to me, but if you have a 
sweeter one I will learn to love it, I daresay, in time.'' 

The smiling upturned lips suddenly drooped and 
quivered like the petals of a sensitive flower. 

'' There was another name," she replied slowly, 

but I buried it in mid-ocean with all the other tokens 
of that would-be forgotten life. The only name left 
to me is the one by which you have always known 
me, Leon Wheatley. Some time I will show you the 
old name in writing, but I do not want it ever to pass 
my lips again." 

“And what of the book?" asked David, pointing 
to the well-known volume that lay so conspicuously 
upon the rosewood table near them. 

“ My life is in it," Leon responded briefly, “ but O, 
David, I did not dream that the ultimate happiness of 
my heroine in finding the true love that fed her 
hungering soul would ever prove to be my happiness 
also." 

“ It was a prophecy," responded David gravely. 
“ But, Leon, what of the rest of it ? What of the 
sacred unity of that love-crowned pair in the perfec- 
tions of their higher experiences, gained through suf- 
fering, upon the plane of mutual freedom (though 
lawfully united), of responsiveness and pure enjoy- 


The Transformation of Leon Wheatley. 201 

ment in the exercise of all those holy prerogatives of 
marriage upon the level of equal purity, loftiness of 
purpose and desire ? '' 

The woman lifted her eyes to meet those of her 
lover’s, with a clear untroubled gaze, and said ear- 
nestly : '' I believe that too is possible.” 

“ For us, my darling? Tell me, shall it be for us? ” 
She laid her white fingers upon his brow and looked 
into the verv depths of his soul as she answered ten- 
derly, '' Yes, I have no fear. I can trust you.” 

Resisting at length the long eloquent embrace in 
which he held her, Leon stepped to the window and 
drew aside the curtain, saying in a. tone of tender re- 
proach ; See, the day is already breaking. It is 
time we parted for a little while, is it not?” 

David with a pensive sigh stepped to her side and 
looked out on the gray dawn. Will my new joy 
yet fade awav and leave me desolate as before with 
the light of yonder star, I wonder ? ” 

'' No, no, it will not,” replied Leon with impulsive 
earnestness. Once at least in every one’s lifetime 
a cup overflowing with happiness is heM to his lips. 
That cup is oflfered to both of us now. Let us not 
hesitate to drink it.” 


202 


A Woman's Protest. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A mother's prayer. 

When once more the silent stars shone brilliantly 
in the heavens and looked calmly down upon the af- 
fairs of mortal men, and the moon half-veiled with 
filmy white clouds peeped out shyly, like some coy 
maiden upon her first love, David’s carriage drew up 
to Leon’s door, and almost simultaneously Leon her- 
self appeared, closely wrapped in a long dark ulster 
and hood, and took her seat beside David in the car- 
riage, and together they drove rapidly away in the 
direction of David’s home. David whispered his 
ardent greetings with his warm breath caressing her 
cheek, and at last he said aloud, Are you dressed 
just as you were last night, my Queen?” 

It was so like David, that Leon laughed as she 
replied, '' Yes, precisely, I think. I thought it would 
suit you best. And I am feeling better, too. I have 
slept nearly all day. Such sweet dreamless repose 
has not been mine since early girlhood ere ever I knew 
what bitterness life held for me. But Love was a 
soothing draught, and I had drunk deep of it. And 
now, what of the little mother? Is she waiting? Will 
she receive me? O David, it will be harder for me to 
look into her clear eyes, and to stand in the pure sanct- 


A Mother’s Prayer. 203 

ity of her presence than it was to meet and face you, 
my Dear, — much harder/' 

“ Then banish all fears, all dread, Leon, for my 
blessed mother has waited all day with the eager im- 
patience of a child, and has even counted the hours 
until you should come. I never saw her in such a 
spirit of animation about anything. Her only solici- 
tude is that her prettiest gown is not quite handsome 
enough to do justice to the occasion. 

“ And as for little Mabel, her exuberance knows no 
bounds. She nas always been an enthusiastic admirer 
of yours. You may depend upon it, there will be no 
formality about her welcome. I left the two an hour 
ago hysterically engaged in the mysteries of dressing, 
both of them laughing and crying by turns." 

David was much amused with the pleasing picture 
he had drawn of the two dear ones at home who now 
awaited them just on before, but Leon was silent, and 
the slender, ungloved hand that lay in his clutched 
his fingers convulsively. 

What is it. Dear ? " murmured David with sudden 
apprehension. '' Is it something of which you are 
thinking? " 

'' Yes," responded Leon in a low tone, ‘‘ I was 
thinking of the absent one." 

David suddenly tightened on his reins and for a few 
moments they rode on in silence, musing pensively at 
the thoughts of Nell which Leon’s remark had 
aroused. 

She loved you, Leon," said David briefly, at last. 

I knew it, poor child ! It made me feel grieved 


204 A Woman’s Protest. 

and ashamed to think I should have so deceived and 
cheated her gentle, trustful nature. The dear girl 
was just at that period of her development when all 
unconsciously she yearned for the love and companion- 
ship of one of the opposite sex. She was so pure- 
hearted and guileless that I often had looked upon her 
with fears lest she should give herself to some one who 
would be unworthy of her and treat her falsely. I 
longed to reveal to her my identity that she might 
profit by the terrible example of my life, and I sup- 
pose the tenderness I felt for her on this account led 
her to lay the sweet gift of her love, all unasked and 
unexpected, at my feet. I had not for one moment 
dreamed of such a possible outcome. However, I 
can but think that by this time she has forgotten her 
impulsive attachment for me. If she has not, she will 
be crushed by a knowledge of my true personality, 
and at best I fear she will never be able to forgive 
me for my gross deception of her innocent, trusting 
heart.’’ 

“ I do not wonder at my sister’s having fallen in 
love with you, although I remember how fearfully 
jealous of her I was for having dared to do so. 
Why, I could not say, only that I seemed to feel that 
in some inexplicable way you belonged only to me, and 
that no woman had any right to encroach upon your 
affections. But I would not have you speak so sadly, 
for I have this to say that I know will comfort and 
reheve you. Only last night I received a letter from 
Nell announcing her betrothal to a man of honor, 
wealth and social position who resides in Paris, She 


205 


A Mother’s Prayer. 

assures me that her happiness is supreme. An en- 
closed letter from her uncle declares his entire satis- 
faction with her choice, and his delight with the 
match, for her fiancee, he claims, is a man of superior 
talents, unapproachable character and most sterling 
worth/' 

Leon drew a long sigh, and replied with evident 
pleasure and relief, O, David, I am so grateful to 
hear this. The sweet girl deserves to be loved by one 
of Earth’s noblest men. And I hope he will prove to 
be one of them, but, ah me ! who shad say that he 
is or is not until marriage sets free the smoldering 
fires of passion that may rage within him, unguessed, 
even by himself ! ” 

“ Well, my darling, let us put from us, for to-night 
at least, so dubious a prospect, for look yonder, is 
not that an exquisite picture ? ’’ 

At the first sound of carriage-wheels upon the 
gravel road leading up to the Burford farmhouse the 
hall-door had swung wide open, emitting a flood of 
briliant light upon the path before them, while in the 
doorway Mabel appeared, all unconscious of the 
lovely picture she presented in the dark frame about 
her. She was dressed in dainty white with a rose- 
colored sash around her slender waist, her brown hair 
falling in girlish ringlets about her shoulders, and 
both white-slippered feet peeping out from her lace- 
trimmed skirts, dancing impatiently to the imminent 
peril of the lamp she held above her head, and which 
cast its glowing radiance upon her eager, laughing face. 

With her somber wraps falling back unheeded as 


2o6 


A Woman’s Protest. 


she rose Leon alighted from the carriage and 
mounted the steps to the house in ail her regal beauty, 
while at sight of her the girl in the doorway fell back 
abashed, setting down the lamp with trembling fingers, 
while her pure face blushed to a deep crimson. She 
had known that Leon in her old guise was handsome, 
but she was totally unprepared for such exquisite 
loveliness as this. So it was Leon, after all, who made 
the first advance. Standing on the threshold she 
stretched out her jeweled hands yearningly, and in a 
voice musical with tender pathos, said pleadingly : 

Little Sister? 

It was enough. The impulsive girl threw her arms 
closely around the graceful form, and burying her face 
in Leon’s soft laces gave vent to a gush of tears that 
expressed more eloquently than any words could have 
done the joyous emotions she felt. But Leon lifted 
the wet, enraptured face and covered it with kisses, 
whi^.e David gently drew them both into the hall and 
shut the outer door behind them all. 

'' Come Mabel, don’t keep Mother waiting,” he said 
very tenderly, his own eyes wet with tears at the 
affecting scene ; and the girl obediently turned away 
and bounded up the stairs, leaving the lovers to mount 
more slowly. 

Courage, my fair Dove,” whispered David as he 
felt Leon shrink slightly as they reached the turn in 
the stair, a mother’s. all-enfoTling love av/aits you in 
the little heaven just above us.” The door of the in- 
valid’s room was throv;n open, and on entering, both 
]\Iabel and David stepped quietly aside. 


2o7 


A Mother’s Prayer. 

It was a pretty scene within that room. Every 
luxury that modest means could afford had been 
added here, in order that this apartment which they 
all loved shoiud be the most attractive one in the 
house. Carpets that looked and felt like beds of 
roses, beautiful pictures in costly frames, revolving 
book-cases on wheels, just adapted to an invalid's 
needs, dainty draperies, easy chairs, blooming plants 
and a cage of brightly plumaged song-birds, all made 
an appropriate setting for the rare and precious 
jewel whose luster no amount of suffering could dim 
or tarnish. 

The angelic face of Mrs. Burford, now beaming 
with tenderness and yearning mother-love, shone out 
from silken pillows, her fragile form propped among 
downy bolsters in a reclining-chair. She was robed 
in a soft loose gown of silver-gray with frills of 
creamy lace at throat and wrists, while over her thin 
brown hair lay a dainty widow’s cap of silk and 
lace. 

At sight of Leon she too expressed iil-concea.^ed 
surprise, but only for a moment, then she held out her 
thin arms and folded them motherwise around the 
beautiful woman who, without lifting her eyes, had 
crossed the room and knelt by the invalid’s chair, hid- 
ing her burning face in the folds of the soft gray 
dress. 

‘‘ Welcome, welcome, my daughter,” cried Mrs. 
Burford in a voice quivering with emotion. '' Long 
ago, my dear, I guessed your sad secret, and have 
waited hopefully, patiently, prayerfully for this hour. 


2o8 


A Woman’s Protest. 


Lift your head, Dearie, and lay it here on my bosom 
where I can bend a little and touch my lips to your 
fair, sweet face. There, there, weep on ! 1 hose tears 
are a healing balm to your wounded, bleeding spirit. 

“ Nay, nay, my daughter, there is nothing to for- 
give. I have only admired your heroism and re- 
spected your unique position in our midst, which has 
been a powerful example of what woman might be- 
come if she were allowed to fill her natural destiny. 
But I have been moved with sadness for your lot, for 
it did not take much reasoning to conjecture the ter- 
rible influences that must have been brought to bear 
upon you to give you the boldness, born only of des- 
peration, to take this revolutionary step. Then too, 
I could plainly see that you were not happy, and I 
guessed the reason of that also in your self-inflicted 
isolation. 

“ But I have watched my Davy's deepening love for 
you, and have fostered and nourished it in every way 
I could, for you see I knew (or felt quite sure I knew) 
so much about you, and about himself too, that he was 
not aware of and which I did not feel free to tell him, 
for whatever might have happened I would never have 
betrayed your secret. 

So in the silent watches of the night, while I lay 
so wakeful on my pillow, I have mingled my prayers 
and my tears for you both, hoping that the outcome 
might prove just what it has done to-night, when I 
find my prayers overwhelmingly answered. 

Ah, David, my son, and you too, little daughter, 
my faithful one, come to my side and let us together 


2og 


A Mother^s Prayer. 

lift our hearts in praises and thanksgiving to the all- 
kind Providence that has led us into paths of such 
pleasantness and peace. Let us thank God for this 
occasion and for all the happiness it predicts for us in 
future.’^ 

Kneeling about the invalid’s chair the young people 
wept together with overflowing emotion, while the 
gentle mother approached, with words of eloquence 
born of sincere gratitude and devotion, the throne of 
Grace, from which, as she had said, all these wonder- 
ful blessings emanated. And during that fervent 
prayer the hush of ineffable peace settled down over 
them all, a peace that was too sweet and solemn to 
dispel by further conversation together on that oc- 
casion, so with her erstwhile lonely heart now filled 
with love and comforted, Leon presently withdrew 
leaning upon her lover’s arm. 

‘‘ You certainly will not think of returning to your 
own little home this evening, will you, Leon ? ” asked 
David as he led her into the parlor below stairs. 

'' Yes, O, yes,” .replied Leon hastily. ‘‘ Dinah will 
be waiting for me, and I must depend upon her diplo- 
macy for keeping the other servants from knowing 
the true identity of their master,” she added, laughing. 

'' But, Leon, — pardon me if I appear too bold, — 
what are your plans for the future? You surely will 
not punish yourself by living on much longer in the 
way you have done, will you, my Darling? ” 

“ No, David, it is true that I cannot, and I am glad 
you spoke of it, for it will make it easier for me to 
tell you that I must needs fulfil my plans which T 
10 


216 A Woman’s Protest. 

made before I awakened into this new and delightful 
world of love and human companionship. I must at 
all events go back soon to America. I have a little 
daughter over there who greatly needs a mother’s love 
and care, and now, more than ever before since I left 
her, my heart yearns for her, although I have never 
forgotten to sorrow over the estranged relationship, 
for she does not even know that she has a mother. 

‘‘ But, David, what are we to do ? As you inferred, 
we cannot be separated long. Would you go with me 
to America, if — if you were free to do so ? ’’ 

I would go to the ends of the earth with you, 
David replied gloomily, but unfortunately I cannot 
leave Mother, at least not for any length of time.” 

Leon clasped her hands in a little ecstasy. 

‘‘ I have it,” she cried exultantly. Your mother 
and sister shall go with us to America. A sea- 
voyage would be almost certain to prove beneficial to 
our gentle invalid, especially at this most favorable 
time of the year, and she should have the best of care.” 

But David’s countenance did not brighten. 

Yes, Mother’s physician has talked change of cli- 
mate to her for the past five years, but there has been 
no way to bring it about. You see we’re tied up here 
pretty snugly. The farm has not paid very well since 
Father died. I am not much of a farmer, myself. 
Not half so good a one in fact as my youthful neighbor 
has proved to be,” he said laughingly, in a lame at- 
tempt to prove cheerful, but his own words suddenly 
startled him as he realized the forcible contrast be- 
tween the woman who sat beside him and the sue- 


A Mother's Prayer. 21 1 

cessful young man of affairs to whom he had playfully 
referred. 

Good Heavens ! ’’ he excaimed, bounding to his 
feet and facing Leon rather fiercely, are you really 
the same individual who has run that farm and made 
of it the most remunerative piece of property for its 
size in the whole country-side? Are you really Leon 
Wheatley, — the same Leon Wheatley I have known? 
Or are you some one else who is playing a practical 
trick? Or are you a spirit who will suddenly vanish 
and leave me without friend and sweetheart? You, a 
woman and yet so capable of living an independent 
life, and of accomplishing all that you have done ! 
Good Gracious, I find it hard to believe, but being true 
how I do admire you ! 

Leon flushed a little triumphantly as she replied: 

‘‘ Yes, David Burford, I am one and the same per- 
son. I am Leon Wheatley, and I have made the little 
farm pay, it is true. Why, David, you have no idea 
how rich I am. I have money enough for us all. 
The dear Mother shall have the change she needs, 
and the sea-voyage when taken in each other's com- 
pany will doubtless prove beneficial to us all. We 
will go to sunny Florida where the difference in 
atmospheric conditions will not be too great, and there 
we will rear a beautiful home for ourselves, with a 
pretty bit of farm-land attached (for I shall not want 
to give up farming entirely, David) and there we will 
work together, you and I, Dear, in making a happy 
home for Mother, for sister Mabel, for my little 
daughter, and not the least of all, for ourselves. 


212 


A Woman’s Protest. 


O, David, how ready, how eager I appear to be to 
give myself once more (I who have tasted the de- 
lights of perfect freedom and independence) into the 
care and keeping of another! Really, I thought I 
knew my own heart better than that ! ’’ and as if to 
save him embarrassment, Leon laughed cheerily. 

But David answered gravely. 

My, Darling, you shall not be under my keeping, 
although it will give me much pleasure to afford you, 
as your husband, the protection your gentle nature 
demands. But in all other particulars you shall be as 
free as a wild-winged bird, free to go out at your 
pleasure, and to return to my heart, like the bird to 
its home-nest. You shall never be bound to me by 
any stronger ties of my making, that will hold you 
against our will, than your spontaneous affection and 
faithfulness to me. As you told your love to me first, 
so must you ever lead in the matter of your affections. 
I shall want nor expect nothing of you that you do 
not give because of love and joyousness in our union. 
Had I never developed such radical convictions of my 
own regarding the relations of man and woman, the 
lessons you have taught me in our frequent talks, the 
strength and ability you have manifested in living 
independently as you have done, and, if these were 
not enough, the terrible history of your past experi- 
ences and the powerful truths that you have given to 
the world through your book, any or each of these 
alone would surely have been enough in themselves to 
have cleansed me, like a purifying fire, from the dross 
of unholy desires and disregard for woman’s noble 


A Mother’s Prayer. 213 

prerogatives as well as for her sacred rights and privi- 
leges as a human being/’ 

“But, ah, if you should ever forget?” suggested 
Leon sorrowfully. The words had no more than 
escaped her lips, however, than she would fain have 
recalled them, for over David Burford’s honest face 
swept the deep crimson flood of shame at the very 
suggestion. 

“ No, no, it will never be so,” Leon hastened to 
assure him. “ O forgive me for uttering those cruel 
words. For one instant. Dearest, like a hot, wither- 
ing breath, the miserable memories of my past swept 
over me, and just for that moment I forgot. Yes, it 
was I who forgot,-^forgot how different you are, 
David, from most men.” 

With tears of love and gratitude in his eyes, 
David looked down into the tender, trustful face up- 
lifted close to his own, and answered proudly, “ Be- 
lieve me, Leon, it is not in my possibilities, so long as 
Eternity shall endure, to forget how different you are 
from most women.” 



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